PROJECT: Recollections
by Crysi102
Summary: Memories race by, fleeting moments of clarity and confusion... Thrust into a situation he knows nothing about and newly awaken as a mysterious PROJECT, Yi faces a difficult choice: Fight to figure out his past, or leave it all behind, and look to the future. With friends at his side and enemies in front of him, Yi is about to face the most dangerous battle of either of his lives...
1. Introductions

**A/N: Welcome, readers, to the sequel of _PROJECT: Echoes_. I've decided to put my own spin on the PROJECT universe, and hopefully it is one that many people will enjoy. I have some fun things planned with this story, and it should be longer than _HUMAN_ was when I wrote that. **

**I'll save most of my rambling for the end, if you want to hear it.**

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 **WARNING**

 **One of the characters here has a REALLY bad cursing problem, and this chapter contains a fair amount of swearing. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **Part One:**

 **Introductions**

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 **Or:**

 **Of Caramel and Pineapples**

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.

 _Flames, destruction, darkness, death_

 _Anger._

 _Everyone was dead._

 _Everyone was…_

 _He would kill them all. Every last one._

 _He was dead._

 _Reborn with a thirst, remade with a new cause._

 _Vengence._

 _._

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Yi woke in a cold sweat, snapping awake to a curtain of darkness. The wall seemed to sink in on him, closing closer, and he fumbled to push it back, to escape before it contained him, encased him, consumed him.

He ended up falling, landing hard on his shoulder, his lower body tangled in the thin sheets of the alcove-like bed he had been resting in. His head was ringing, so he lay there for a minute, reorienting.

"Graceful."

Yi looked up at Lucian sitting across the room in an alcove-bed of his own, cleaning his dual guns. It looked like he was sitting on the ceiling. Yi growled and wrestled himself from the blankets, righting himself to sit on the floor. Yi glared at the gunman, though he wasn't sure if the emotions were visible through his mask.

Lucian seemed to notice Yi's disgruntled glare, and the gunman laughed. "Don't worry, new kid, you'll get used to it." If the man's mouth was visible, it would have been smirking.

Yi frowned. "You did?"

"Sure. These beds are a hell of a lot better than the Containment Pods us PROJECTS wake up in," he waved a gun halfheartedly. "It's weird for the first few days out of An-sys, but you'll get used to it."

"An-sys? What is that? You mentioned it last-" Yi trailed off as he realized he didn't know what day it was.

"Two nights ago. You've been out for a while, kid," Lucian chuckled. "An-sys is a pretty complicated deal. You should ask Leo or Yas about it. They know way more than I do."

"Who?"

"I keep forgetting you're new here. Haven't met the gang," Lucain motioned to the door. "They should all be out there. Yas would normally be snoring like a bastard in the bunk above you, but sometimes he's up early. You can go meet them yourself. I have a few things to finish here."

Yi nodded, staggering slightly as he stood. As he moved toward the door, something pulled at his mind, like something was missing. He glanced back at the small room and eight alcove-bunks contained within and his eyes settled on his sword. It was leaning between two of the beds, inactive and taking the form of a thin metal rod. He quickly retrieved it, settling it into the strap at his waist. Lucian nodded approvingly at the action, and turned back to his guns.

Holding his inactive blade tightly, Yi left the small sleeping room, stepping into a decent size room. It was sparsely furnished, but had a small kitchen, a table set for six, a four person couch, and a large orange-bordered holographic screen projected onto the wall. Two people were present; Fiora and another person wearing armor so heavy it was hard to discern a gender. The other person wore a bright yellow visor and had one arm protectively on a large hunk of metal beside them as they watched the hologram screen.

"What was that thud earlier? Luci not doing anything strange to you, is he?" the yellow person asked. The voice was female.

"Leona," Fiora snapped. The other laughed. Fiora turned away from what she was doing at the kitchenette and turned to Yi. "I am very sorry about that. She's not normally so uncivilized."

"It's fine," Yi said, ignoring the glare Fiora shot at Leona.

"Well then, Fi, you want to introduce me to your rescue case?"

Fiora sighed. "Leona, this is Yi. Yi, this is Leona. Consider yourself introduced, now come eat."

Something in Yi's mind informed him that the yellow mush-like stuff that was on the plates Fiora sat on the table were called eggs. Another part of his mind found it strange that he didn't immediately know that.

Leona and Fiora sat at the table, Fiora's visor splitting into slits on the side of her head, and Leona removing her helmet. Fiora's face was a pale, pristine white, and Yi realized it was some kind of flexible metal plating. Leona seemed a normal human.

"You hungry?"

It took Yi a moment to realize the question was aimed at him. He shook his head, sitting silently next to them.

"It's alright that you're not," Fiora said. "PROJECTS are made to varying degrees of humanity. Some are almost fully mechanical, like Zed and Lucian. Others, such as Leona and I, are more human than machine, and require food more frequently."

"So which are you?" Leona asked with a smirk, "You got anything under that mask of yours, or is it all metal under there?"

Yi paused at the question. He certainly felt human, but a glance at his hands pointed toward being more machine than anything; his fingers were well-crafted metal joints made of dark metal, yet he could feel everything as if they were made of skin.

"My bet is on hot air," Lucian cut in, twirling his guns as he walked around the table to sit across from Yi. He flung his feet on the table as he leaned back, looking like he wanted to continue talking, but Fiora cleared her throat and he stopped. Lucian's feet found their way off the table very—very—quickly. Yi took the chance to talk.

"I don't think I'm hungry," he said carefully.

"Fair enough," Fiora chuckled as if the Lucian feet incident had never happened. "While we have a moment, let's talk about the plan for tonight. There will be a lot of explaining to do, as you have very little knowledge about what's going on right now. Do you have any questions we can answer before tonight?"

"Too many."

"Take them one at a time, then."

Yi nodded. "Analysis. What is it?"

"Memory Analysis," Fiora began with an understanding nod. "An-sis for short. It is the process through which your memory was altered to the state it currently is. It's a complex process that includes a lot of science and a fair bit of magic. You could say it's how PROJECTS like us are born."

Yi contemplated that for a moment. "PROJECTS. What are they?" he breathed.

Fiora frowned, but it was Leona who spoke. "That's a long story, friend. PROJECTS as a whole were the result of some research gone terribly wrong." Lucian nodded in agreement as Leona continued. "We shouldn't really exist, but we do. Whoever made us messed up, and they messed up bigtime. We were meant to be weapons that harnessed some kind of ancient power, but they made us too human. Turns out trying to make a person something they're not ends up with a bunch of jumbled memories inside of a really confused superhuman body."

Fiora cut in, giving Leona a silencing glare. "We here are the Renegades. We rescue PROJECTS like yourself and keep them safe. We don't nearly get all of them, as SHADOW proves, but we do our best." She sighed. "Later tonight, you can choose to join us on missions like the one that saved you or go to one of several safe houses we have set up around the city. We can explain more about SHADOW and how you were made, what you are, after you make your choice."

Lucian was about to say something when muffled shouting echoed down the stairs. Fiora frowned. Lucian laughed.

"Looks like he found him," the gunman smirked.

"Who found who?"

"You'll see. This should be fun," Lucian leaned back in his chair, watching the stairs expectantly.

Two men eventually appeared, bursting out of the stairway in a flurry of shouting and anger. One wore PROJECT armor and had what could only be described as a pineapple of hair tied back behind him in a haphazard ponytail. The other had dark caramel skin and simple purple and white robes. The caramel one was gesturing wildly as he followed pineapple hair, but pineapple hair was calmly ignoring him.

"Just WHAT were you thinking anyway? 'Oh, I'll just walk into the Junkyard, piss off an inventor, and it'll be all okay!'" Caramel was obviously very mad, and Yi could sense Fiora tense. "You could have gotten us all killed, you idiot!"

Pineapple kept his voice low, an almost growl that came out mechanical as it filtered out of his helmet. "I had it under control."

"You call three troops of Bots and two inventors under control? Are you REALLY that retarded?"

"I prefer the term 'confident,' thank you."

"Fuck you! If I hadn't showed up when I did, you'd be dead, and there would be no one to blame but yourself!"

"But I'm not."

"Because I showed up to save your sorry ass!"

"I didn't need saving."

"Bullshit you didn't need saving! By the Void, Yasuo, you can't go fighting in broad daylight! What if they'd followed you here? We could all be fucking dead! What do you not get about that?"

Pineapple froze, glancing over his shoulder. Leona and Fiora both slid their chairs back, as if ready to leap forward at a moment's notice. "I told you… I had it under control."

"Oh, fuck you," Caramel sneered. "And if they followed you here, what would we do? If they know, what would you want us to do? Move AGAIN? Fuck that, I'm supposed to be a pacifist of all things! I can't keep uprooting my life for you people, and I can't keep standing up for you in public, you bastard!"

Pineapple finally turned to Caramel, meeting his eyes despite being shorter by almost a head, hand resting on his sword hilt. That seemed to be the cue, and both Fiora and Leona were on their feet in a heartbeat.

"I told you; you didn't save anything, and I didn't need your help," Pineapple growled. Somehow, the sound of his low growl was more terrifying than any shout. The sword was partially drawn.

"Sae eleisa tera vi jia, you fucking asshole scumbag son of a—" Caramel growled, Leona holding him back as he strained to move forward. Some kind of green haze seemed to grow around him.

"You call yourself a pacifist and then you act like that? You motherfucking hypocrite!" Yasuo shot back. Fiora held to the swordsman's wrist, keeping the blade sheathed, despite his struggles to free it. The two continued cursing, both in English and in the strange, broken language Caramel had spoken earlier.

"Should we do something?" Yi asked quietly. Lucian hadn't moved except to prop his feet on the table again. He seemed to be enjoying this.

"Nah, they do this all the time. Just wait and enjoy the show," the gunman chuckled.

"Sauru vi ton!" Caramel spat.

"Ethiltil masonak vi asonai," Yasuo returned with just as much venom.

None of it made any sense. However, something about seeing the two strain to fight one another, being held back and reduced to spitting insults was darkly humorous, and Yi had to suppress a laugh.

"That's enough you two!" Fiora finally snapped, stepping between the two with a flaming glare. "Yasuo, you were in the Junkyard in broad daylight without telling any of us?" Yasuo didn't reply. "You MADE the rules, Yasuo. Don't you dare break them."

"I almost had it this time, Fio," Yasuo glared at the fencer, and she met his glare with equal ferocity.

"Don't," Fiora said slowly. "Break. Them."

The staring match continued for a moment before Yasuo finally growled, spun away, and vanished into the sleeping room Yi had woke in. Caramel made a motion at Yasuo's back, brushing a thumb across his teeth. Leona smacked the back of his head.

"Unneeded, Raksha," Leona growled.

"Dammit Leo, that hurt!" The man rubbed his head with a grimace. He shot her a glare.

"Pacifist, remember?" Leona smirked, releasing him and making her way back to the eggs. "Cool down, hot shot."

Fiora met Caramel's—Raksha's—gaze for a moment. When Raksha finally let out a sigh, breaking the eye contact, Fiora turned to the sleeping room. "I'll go talk to him." When she had vanished behind the door, Lucian laughed.

"Well, that was fun!" the gunman broke the silence before it started. "Eggs, Rak?"

The other man took a breath, swept his hair behind his ear, and finally looked up with a pleased smile. "Of course!" he took Fiora's seat.

The man took several mouthfuls of food before choosing to talk right in the middle of one. "I don't know this one," he said casually. He swallowed, turning to Yi. "I am sorry that was your first impression of me, friend."

Yi shrugged, unsure of what to say.

"My name is Raksha," the man said brightly. "You are living in my basement!"

"Yi, Raksha here is our public face," Leona explained. "He and his people speak for the PROJECTS hidden around the city, helping them stay safe and live in relative peace. PROJECTS are typically seen as dangerous, but Raksha and his people are trying to change that."

"I mean, just because you all seem to pop one over those masks of yours doesn't mean you're that dangerous," Raksha laughed. "People just don't know what you all can do. I mean you're semi-robotic reincarnations of ancient super-warriors! Who wouldn't be scared shitless of you?"

"We're what?" Yi frowned.

"That's a discussion for later," Leona stopped Raksha before he could speak. "Should you choose to join the Renegades, it would be Raksha here who helped you discover your past, decode your memories, and help you figure out your abilities. If not, then it isn't important. Until then, you will be taken by one of us to meet a few other PROJECTS at a safe house later tonight. After you make your choice, we'll talk some more."

Yi nodded.

"You're gonna love the house tonight," Lucian said. "In a few hours will be sunset, and then you'll get to meet the most famous of the PROJECTS who isn't a Renegade. She's an absolute idol around here, plays this really co—"

Lucian was cut off from what sounded like a child's voice from the stairs. "Raksha, can you come up here? You have Visitors!"

The way the voice said 'visitors' made both Leona and Lucian freeze, and Raksha choked on a mouthful of eggs he had just eaten, spewing them across the table. That was sufficient to unfreeze the other two, as well as release a string of colorful curses in various languages from all three.

Raksha lept to his feet, hastily wiping egg from his chin. "Be right there, Lilleth!" he shouted, "Show our guests to the sitting room, would you?"

"Yessir!" the voice replied.

Raksha's half panicked expression put Yi on edge, and he practically flew across the room and up the stairs. It only took a few seconds for the others to stand, having cleaned themselves of egg, and follow.

"This could be good," Lucian chuckled. The action seemed tenser than his previous laughs, however. He was clearly nervous.

"Where are you going?" Yi asked, worried about the growing tension in the room.

"The sitting room has a false wall in it, so we can watch what's going on. This is no doubt going to affect us, so we're going to make sure Rak doesn't get himself killed." Leona said carefully, pulling open a well-hidden panel in the wall to reveal a dark passageway. Lucian wasted no time darting into the path. Yi, however, hesitated.

Leona smiled softly. "Come on, you're going to want to do this at least once. Just be very silent."

Yi nodded and let Leona usher him into the wall.

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 **A/N: Alright, so here it is, the first chapter of _Recollections_. I ask that you all are patient with me, I'm not the fastest writer, and I don't always have my computer to type the story up, so I have a fancy little notebook that I'm writing this all in. It can be tedious to type it all back up after writing it, but I'm going to do it for all of you! As a result of this, however, updates will be few and far between for a while. I plan to make the chapters at least decently long.**

 **I want to hear from you, though. Is this chapter a good length, or should I put more? This one is very close to 3,000 words long, but I could logically make them more like 5-6,000 if you wanted.**

 **On another note, Raksha is one of a few descendants from the League that we are going to meet throughout this story. Since this all takes place in the future of Runeterra, I have a whole history and everything worked out. I challenge you to figure out who Raksha's ancestor is. While you guys do that, I'm going to go ahead and continue writing, or maybe just go play some League. I've been typing for almost three hours straight now, I could use a break. XD**

 **Leave a Review if you want! I would love to hear from all of you!**


	2. Creator

**A/N: I have no idea if the three lines in the workspace are gonna show up, but if they do, I'm really sorry. I hit a wrong button and formatting may have gotten a bit wonky.**

 **In any case, I wanted this to be a Christmas gift to you all, but things happened so it's late. Sorry.**

 **There are no major warnings for this chapter, just a bit of minor cursing, mostly censored, so don't worry about that.**

 **In any case, I will hold off until the end of the chapter to keep talking. Please sit back and enjoy this special chapter of _PROJECT: Recollections_. :D**

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 **Part Two:**

 **Creator**

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 **Or:**

 **A Casual Invitation to Death Row and a Concert**

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Raksha paused at the top of the stairs for two reasons. The first was to let the PROJECTS slink into the walls, as they always did. Whenever there were people around, they liked to watch. He probably would too, if he was stuck inside as often as they were. The second reason was to take a deep breath and attempt to calm his nerves.

Damn that Yasuo! Getting the attention of an Inventor was never a good thing. No doubt that it was coming to haunt them right now. It was going to get them all killed!

No, there was no evidence that said these visitors were any trouble. Raksha reminded himself of that fact sternly. No need to get worked up over nothing.

He let out his held breath slowly, and inhaled some of his mana in the next breath. On his exhale, he pressed his hands slowly through space in front of him, chanting his mantra softly. Always soft, always slow.

"Lath rian onue vi phyla, Raksha…" he breathed. "Phyla, Raksha…"

 _Peace_.

The pale green sheen that came with the mantra rippled across his vision before fading. It was still there, of course, but he had done this so often that he barely noticed the ethereal hue it gave everything.

With one more breath, he straightened his robes and started down the hall.

His footsteps on the dark hardwood floor echoed loudly in the near complete silence of the house. It was an old fashioned one; separated from the other buildings in the city. An old mansion filled with gilded stairs, elaborate arcing ceilings, fine, handcrafted wall panels. Ancient things. Expensive things. He didn't let them distract him, chanting his mantra silently in his head until it became nothing more than silence.

 _Phyla, Raksha._

Lilleth was waiting outside of the sitting room, likely having just delivered a tray of refreshments to the room. She was a Yordle, standing no higher than Raksha's knee. Yordles were strange to see, nowadays. Many had been caught in the Shurima-Noxian war a few hundred years ago. Many others had died at the time of the Great Collapse. Lil was a sight to behold. She was short—even by Yordle standards—and mostly furless unlike many, with wide, floppy triangle ears. When he approached, she fiddled with his robes a little bit more before smiling up at him with that bright smile that only a Yordle could produce.

"Raksha, they're ready."

He nodded.

"Be careful."

Another breath, ready to enter the room. His mantra coursed through him, vibrating through every part of his being.

 _Peace_.

He stepped into the room, not hesitating to make a low bow, head ducked low; a show of extreme respect that made his skin crawl. It was weak.

"I humbly apologize for making you wait, honored guests," Raksha forced his voice to monotone. Balanced, neutral… he was the descendent of the third path, he was not to fight without cause, to respect all until proven otherwise. Bullshi-

 _Phyla, Raksha._

He took another breath, refocusing on his mantra as he straightened, stood tall, and took in the room in front of him. Four fully robotic Policing Bots—taken from old Piltovian design—stood in the corners. Two human soldiers, most likely enhanced with cybernetics in some way, casually lounged around the room. One inspected the bookshelf on the far wall. (Though all of the books were designed to look well-read, Raksha had never actually read any of them. The Theory of Forgivness? Balancing Shadow and Light: Inner Peace and Equilibrium for the Optimal Self? Raksha wouldn't be caught dead reading any of that shit.) The other human stood behind the lounge couch. The final person in the room caused Raksha to pale. He quickly refocused on the hum that was his mantra, breathing in a bit more mana on instinct.

Casually lounging on his sitting room couch was the Creator himself.

He was dressed in all black, with red lights where his eyes should be. All shadowy metal and not quite human, the Creator swirled a drink casually in one hand, as if he wasn't the most revered person in all of Valoran… and as if his feet weren't casually propped on the coffee table in front of him.

"Sit."

The voice was metallic, harsh, false, yet fiercely commanding. Those would-be eyes seemed to bore into Raksha's very soul, and the man stifled a gasp. Bowing his head to avoid showing his surprise (it would hopefully come off as a sign of respect or obedience), Raksha sat across from the Creator, moving as slowly as he possibly could.

 _Phyla, Raksha._

Gulping down his nerves, Raksha let the hum of his mantra consume him, eventually pulling himself up with pride. He was the Keeper of the Third Path. His presence required as much respect as the Creator's.

"How may I be of service, sir?" Raksha was surprised at how level his voice sounded.

There was no response, simply the Creator considering him from over the rim of an untouched glass. The liquid swirled, and for a moment, Raksha almost saw this… this thing as human.

"This city," the Creator's voice broke the silence. He had no lips to move. "What do you think of it?"

Raksha waited an appropriate time before speaking, carefully considering his words. "New Zaun is a wonderful city. We have made much progress in recent years."

The Creator showed no reaction. Raksha struggled to keep his mantra clenched tightly in his mind.

"And what of your bloodline, pacifist?"

That gave Raksha pause. His bloodline was tasked with keeping peace through a long forgotten ancient civilization, the Creator clearly knew that; everyone knew that. So what was the question really asking?

"My line is held in ancient ways," Raksha stated slowly. "No battle unless there is no other way. To be at peace, one must train the mind, body, and spirit in equal measure." He desperately hoped he was saying the right things. "We have been gifted with a great magical affinity, and are tasked with us-"

"Your ways are archaic," the Creator cut him off, watching him closely with those inhuman red eyes. "You live between two great shadows. One, the mantle of your ancestor, passed down through the generations. The second," he paused, and Raksha shivered. "The shadow of progress."

Silence fell over them, a suffocating, heavy thing. Raksha was unsure if he was meant to respond, so he remained silent, struggling to keep his mantra in the forefront of his mind.

"I wonder…"

 _Phyla, Raksha._

"…which shadow is darkest?"

The red wine within the glass casually trickled to the floor, the Creator uncaring as he poured it. Something in Raksha's mind figured the action was to draw a response, but Raksha was frozen to the spot. The thinly veiled threat making him tense, hands wanting to curl into fists. He forced them to lay flat on his knees, to not show the raging turmoil growing within him.

The Creator had to know. There was no other reason for this. He had finally helped the PROJEECTS one too many times. He was as good as dead.

A hundred other reasons for Raksha to run, to hide, to never be seen in this city again raced through his mind. Thousands of reasons why his actions would lead to his doom, millions of reasons to kick the PROJECTS out and become a normal, everyday citizen of New Zaun.

But he couldn't.

He was the holder of the third path, as much as he didn't believe it. He was an honorable person of ancient blood, transcendent.

Which shadow WAS darker? Duty or the Creator?

 _Phyla, Raksha._

Apparently, he had remained silent for long enough, and the Creator nodded faintly, standing.

"The ancient magics are all but lost to us. As one of the few who still practice it, you are of highly respectable blood. As such, I wish to invite you to the Creation Day Gala in three days' time," the Creator said. It was funny how the previous threat went completely forgotten. "To not invite you would be a dishonor to the great Sorcerers of the past. Of course, there is an agenda."

Of course there was an agenda. There was always an agenda.

"The Gala will be the first step toward integrating the great creations known as PROJECTS with normal society. There, I will introduce a law allowing these gifted people the ability to live as normal citizens, unregulated and free, unlike their cybernetic brethren."

This gave Raksha pause. Fully robotic persons had always been regulated heavily, unable to roam freely or connect with other computers. It was assumed that PROJECTS, as strange a mix of technology and humanity as they were, would be regulated as heavily as the sentient robots that had been created in recent years. To hear that PROJECTS would soon be legal citizens of New Zaun was… strangely unsatisfying. It was what Raksha had always hoped for, what the PROJECTS in his basement fought for, and to have it simply handed to them like this…

Something wasn't right about this whole thing.

"Of course, as one of the most outspoken PROJECT supporters, you will be expected to make an appearance at the Gala," the Creator continued calmly. "Several PROJECTS of my own choosing will also attend. I wish for you to bring along one or two of your own, some who would show the citizens that these brilliant technology and human hybrids are nothing to fear."

To reaffirm their trust in their Creator, Raksha read between the lines. That HAD to be the real reason for this Gala. With the PROJECTS raiding labs more and more frequently, people were on edge. This whole thing was a setup to make the Creator look in control of the situation, to show that he had everyone—even Raksha himself—under his thumb.

Or maybe he was looking too far into it?

"So, Pacifist," the Creator placed a heavy, cold hand on Raksha's shoulder, making the other man shiver slightly at the touch. "We will start a new revolution, one in which all people are accepted fully."

Raksha fought to stay still, unmoving. He didn't even look at the Creator. His mantra was lost to him.

"Let this revolution be a glorious one."

And then the Creator was gone.

As soon as the room was empty, Raksha collapse, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He didn't move until Lilleth pried him from the chair several minutes later.

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* * *

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When the 'guests' had finally left, Yi let himself be led back through the hidden paths to the basement in complete silence. There was nothing to say. Yi didn't know exactly what had occurred in the room above, but the way the others behaved told him something very wrong had happened.

Yasuo and Fiora were by the kitchenette; Yasuo slumped over a plate of food, and Fiora cleaning up after the earlier meals. She glanced up at them as they returned, Yasuo stayed silent.

"What happened?" Fiora asked. "Obviously someone came to speak with Raksha."

Lucian sunk onto the couch, proceeding to inspect his guns again. Leona grabbed the large hunk of metal that she carried, cradling it protectively. Her face was almost as pale as Fiora's. Niether PROJECT spoke.

Their silence got a reaction out of Yasuo. He turned a curious gaze at them, brow furrowed. Fiora, however, was the one who spoke, setting down the dishes in favor of sending the trio a sharp glare.

"What… happened?" She ground out slowly. When the others stayed dead silent, her gaze turned on Yi. He shifted under the ferocity of that glare. "Yi?"

This was not a person he wanted to cross, Yi decided, so he finally spoke up. "I am not certain myself, as I didn't know the people involved. There was a guy in black, he asked a few questions, said something about a Gala, and mentioned a revolution? That's all I know for sure."

"Son of a—" Yasuo cursed, glancing at Fiora.

"The Creator? Here?" Fiora gasped. She abandoned the kitchen, almost gliding across the floor toward the stairs. "And none of you thought to check on him?"

When she vanished up the stairs, Yi was almost certain he heard her mumble something about "do it yourself."

Yasuo sighed. "This mildly complicates things."

"Ya think?" Lucian snapped. "They know we're here, I know it. And whose fault is that?"

Yasuo ignored the gunman's glare, standing with a frown. "I need a drink," he declared, wandering toward the stairs himself.

"Oh, don't you dare walk out on us this time!" Lucian snapped, but Leona cut in before he could say more.

"At least bring someone with you. Yi has to be shown the safe houses anyway, so take him with you," the woman met Yi's gaze levelly. "It's safer for two to be out at this point."

Yasuo let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he tossed a dark cloak at the other swordsman, who caught it awkwardly. "Come on then, new kid." He retreated up the stairway.

Yi hesitated to follow, torn between following this swordsman he barely knew and checking on Raksha. Leona lay a hand on his shoulder.

"He's going to drink himself silly tonight, friend. Normally, Fiora would accompany him, but we have things to take care of here. Lucian is needed elsewhere, and I am needed here," Leona said gently. "If you could watch out for him, we would all be in your debt. You'll also get to see the city, as well as our best safe house."

Yi nodded as he adjusted his cloak.

"Keep to the shadows," Leona continued. "We are only safe at night, when there are few people around. Keep you hood up on the streets, when you get to the house, you'll be able to take it off. The people here don't take kindly to PROJECTS roaming the streets free, so be careful. The night patrols will mostly ignore you, but Yasuo may not ignore them. Keep him out of trouble, please."

"Of course."

"Yi," Leona stopped him at the base of the stairs this time. He turned to listen. "If you do run into trouble, trust your instincts. You have the spirit of a great warrior in you, I can feel it. Trust your sword, trust your memories. Sometimes, the past is a better guide to the future than you might imagine."

Yi nodded silently. He wasn't even sure what all he could do with his sword. The only time he'd used it, he hadn't thought at all. If it came to it, he trusted the mysterious blade to lead him the right way. It felt odd to think it, yet the thought felt so… right.

His blade would keep him safe.

Yi made his way up the stairs, finding himself in a small broom closet. He emerged into a tall, rich hallway of large white walls and beautiful darkwood accents. It was simple, yet elegant. Yasuo was leaning against the wall outside of the closet, looking impatient and thumbing the hilt of his blade.

"Took you long enough," Yasuo huffed. "Follow me."

Yasuo led the way through deserted halls and what seemed to be the house kitchen, eventually reaching a back door of sorts. Here, Yasuo glanced down the dark alleyway, pulled his hood high, and slunk into the darkening night.

Dusk had only just fallen, the sky still holding a slight tinge of red-orange as Yi followed, hood pulled forward, hand on his blade, and the duo melted into the shadows.

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 **A/N: Thank you guys for reading, I hope I don't make you wait too long until the next chapter. My goal is, as I think I mentioned earlier (too lazy to check), a chapter a month. I should have something out for around the first week of January, but don't hold me to that.**

 **On another topic, I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas/Holiday Season (whichever applies to you). I ended up at my grandparents for the last week, and when I went to post this earlier, we lost internet just as I was uploading. I had legit just hit the button. I was sad.**

 **In any case, I won't babble too long. I'll see you next chapter!**


	3. Night

**A/N: Happy 2016, everyone! Hope your holidays all went well.**

 **I got a nice, long chapter for you today, so please enjoy! And as usual, go ahead and read the A/N at the end for more of my blabbing, or just ignore it and move on. Up to you.**

 **No major warnings for this chapter.**

 **In any case, Enjoy!**

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 **Part Three:**

 **Night**

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 **Or:**

 **Of Music, Bananas, and Drunken Conversations**

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* * *

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The Starchild had, at one point, been immortal. She had lived among the stars, a myth. Many centuries ago, she had thrown it all away for a mortal man who turned on her. It seemed the stars pitied her, for instead of being fully mortal, she became a creature who could live a thousand times longer than any other being. She was supposedly mortal, but she was now nearing five-hundred mortal years, and had yet to physically age a day.

The world had changed greatly, these past centuries. At one time, there had been the great power of the League of Legends, the Institute of War that kept the world at peace, but it all crumbled away. After the collapse, Champions vanished, war broke out, and Soraka had done her best to fade into history. She had retreated to the depths of the forests along the Ironspike Mountains, hiding away as the world crumbled around her. She was no warrior, she did not feel regret as she retreated. The world changed drastically in only a few short years. One singular power engulfed most of northern Valoran, technology surpassed magic, and for a span of centuries, she lived alone. Unseen, unheard, unremembered.

Then, only a decade ago—such a short time when she looked back. It felt as if the League was there just yesterday—a man had stumbled into her forest haven. Broken, bloodied, and in need of assistance, the man had collapsed. As a healer, Soraka had been quick to help him, yet the ghosts of her past kept her from fully confiding in the man. That was when strange things began to surface in the man's mind.

The man had been absolutely convinced he was Yasuo, a Champion of the League Soraka had held as he died nearly three-hundred years before.

Yet the man had not recognized her as a fellow Champion. He was confused, incomplete. Soraka had tried to send him away, but could not gather the strength to do so. Every time she saw him, she remembered the time her magic failed her. She remembered the bloody battle for the Institute, holding the bleeding swordsman as the light faded from his eyes. She simply could not turn this man away.

So, she threw up a magical disguise and the two searched out others like him. They were known as PROJECTS; some kind of reincarnation of the ancient Champions. They were suffering, being turned into things they were not. Their plight pulled on Soraka's heart. The Starchild chose to help them in any way she could. She searched out those who would help, descendants of the Champions who had lived through the warfare, some she had known well—the son of her friend Karma, the daughter of Irelia, the son of her best friend Sona—and the descendants of some Champions that she had not known—the daughter of the Freljordian Gragas, the son of the Noxian Katarina, even the long lost descendent of the Bilgewater Scourge himself, Gangplank. The bloodlines had connected slowly over the years, forming a secret network of safe houses and knowledge bases dedicated to keeping these "PROJECTS" safe.

And so it came to be that, while the descendants of Gragas and Olaf carried on their ancestors' tradition of selling alcohol in mass quantities, she sold books and ancient texts, and the others ran covert operations out of their basement.

Theirs was the largest and most used of the safe houses. That combined with the laws surrounding alcohol sales led to this bar being one of the most popular spots in the entirety of New Zaun. It seemed Graggy Ice sold well no matter what century it was. The bar had expanded several times over the years.

It really was no surprise when 'Yasuo' stalked in from the night, threw his hood off, slammed a fist on the bar, and loudly made it known that he was going to get dead drunk tonight and to put it all on Raksha's tab.

Gayle and Sigurd, of course, were too busy welcoming their most frequent customer to notice the one who silently walked behind him.

Soraka sighed, wiping her hands out of habit, and went to greet the other cloaked person. A part of her dreaded knowing who was behind that cloak—it clearly was not one of the known PROJECTS… this one was far too cautious to be any of the others—and another part of her simply wanted the person to be comfortable, cared for. She put on as bright a smile as she could muster.

"Welcome, friend, to the Frozen Cask bookshop and bar," Soraka said sweetly, "I am Soraka, here to help you however I can."

The cloaked stranger considered her for a moment before he nodded. He seemed more concerned with the two halves of the building than with the conversation. That was not strange, considering the near perfect split between light, airy bookshop and dark, grungy bar that was the Frozen Cask. Soraka's bookshop was sparsely populated, only the occasional person lounging, reading, and nibbling on small plates of biscuits. The Bar half of the building was nearly a riot, with men and woman alike calling for toasts. The night was early, and it was tame so far, in a few hours, Gayle and Sigurd would have their work cut out for them. They were lucky large muscles and exceptional guts ran in their families.

"Come, friend, sit and talk with me," Soraka led the cloaked man to her countertop, thankful that a large doorway separated her counter from the Bar. The person sat silently, cautious. Soraka tried her best to seem friendly, a feat that was not always easy through the Illusion she kept up. It would not do to be a horned Immortal in a world where magical creatures were only rarely seen, so she kept up a humanoid appearance, one that did not always show emotion perfectly. She put up the simple silencing spell around them, effectively blocking their voices from the rest of the people present, as well as blocking the other peoples' voices from the two of them.

"I know what you are, friend," Soraka said finally. "You are safe here, feel free to drop your hood."

The person nodded, allowing his hood to fall to his shoulders. Orange slits of light sat where his eyes would be on his helm, a long white trail of hair served as decoration on the top of his head. Soraka could almost recognize him.

"You are a newly awoken one, aren't you?" Soraka asked calmly, though she already knew the answer.

"Yes," the man confirmed. That voice was unmistakable.

"Yi?"

"You know me?" he was surprised.

"At a time, I did," Soraka smiled. "I was originally a Champion of the League. We faced one another many times, friend. I also lived on the Ionian Isles, and we met several times when you would go home."

"Ionian Isles?" Yi asked.

"That was your home," Soraka explained softly. It was no surprise that he did not know the old countries. Most PROJECTS woke with very little knowledge of the old world. She wondered just how torn Yi's memory was. "At least, Ionia was the home of Master Yi, the creator of the Wuju Style of swordsmanship."

Yi had been an acquaintance when Soraka was a champion. He had often stopped with news of the outside world on his way to his distant training grounds. His only apprentice, Wukong, had been a kind (if energetic and competitive) monkey… person. The two of them had been a force to be reckoned with when they were alive. Yi had once explained how he had met Wukong. His Wuju style had been so powerful that he was feared by many people, and that led to the destruction of the town he called home. Later, Yi had met Wukong, an inexplicably intelligent monkey who had wanted to learn the art of swordsmanship from the master. Somehow, Yi had agreed to teach the monkey, and so began one of the greatest Master and Student relationships Soraka had ever seen. The Starchild wondered how much this version of Yi remembered of his past.

Before she had a chance to ask what he remembered, the blue haired Cadao tapped her shoulder. If not for the silencing spell, he would likely have been shouting something with the bright smile only he seemed able to produce. Even though he knew the spell was there, his lips moved in a non-stop stream of talking.

Soraka motioned for him to slow down and wait a second before turning back to the Yi PROJECT.

"I am sorry, friend. I would love to talk some more, but there is an event happening downstairs soon, and I must go help," Soraka explained. The Yi PROJECT—she refused to think of him as Yi himself—nodded. "You could walk with me, talk as we go, if you would like."

The PROJECT glanced at Yasuo before nodding and standing. He had not said very much, which was quite unlike the old Master Yi would have been. Soraka smiled nonetheless, letting the silencing spell fall.

"—bass still needs some tuning, and one of the lights seem to have burned out but we should be ready to perform in about an hour."Cadao ranted. His smile never wavered, looking just a bit out of place when compared to his black leather outfit. The style was newly emerging, and catching on quickly among the youths of the city. Mildly inspired by old Zaun street rats, the look was a bit more refined than the 'Metalhead' trend from a few years ago. This sort of 'Techno Punk' look combined thin pants, dark coats, and one too many chains to look 'cool.' Soraka had never understood it. Cadao had naturally blue hair, something to do with the magic his blood was infused with, and it fit perfectly into the style, making him a sort of model for other youths following the trend.

"—aka?"

"What?" the Starchild snapped out of her thoughts at Cadao's voice, realizing he was now almost ripping the Yi PROJCET's arm off by shaking it.

"This is the new PROJECT, I assume? Fresh out of Ansis, right? My name's Cadao, from the bloodline of the great mu-"

"That is enough, Cadao," Soraka snapped. She glanced around to make sure no one of note caught any of what the boy had said. The bar was relatively safe, yes, but that was no excuse to talk freely. "Let us go downstairs to continue our conversation, shall we?"

"Yes, let's!" Cadao exclaimed happily. "You should definitely meet the band, friend! I can show you around and get you acquainted! After all, you may choose to stay here with us, eh?" The boy vanished down the stairs in a blur of bright blue and black.

Soraka sighed. "I do apologize for him. He is a bit energetic, I am afraid." The Yi PROJECT shrugged. Ever since she had mentioned the Ionian Isles, he had seemed to be deep in thought. "Well then, friend," Soraka said, "We should probably follow him before he comes back searching for us."

.

* * *

.

Yi followed the woman—Soraka—down the stairs after the blue haired teen. There was a nagging familiarity about her, and he wondered if the memories prodding at his mind were of her. Looking at her long, dark hair and traditional white robes, something seemed off about her. As if something was missing. Something in his memories told him this wasn't how she was supposed to appear, that it was some kind of illusion.

He let himself be led down a series of hallways lit with dim golden light. Yasuo had been absorbed with his drink at the bar, and Yi hadn't had a chance to ask him if these people were trustworthy. It occurred to him as the blue haired teen blabbed on about something music related that he could be walking into a trap of some sort. Yes, Soraka seemed innocent enough, but logic told him to be cautious. Instinct, however, told him that these people were safe to follow. That same feeling his memories gave him surrounded Soraka, that same haze, but under it was that constant calm of something familiar. She, at least, posed no threat.

The teen, on the other hand…

They eventually reached what seemed to be a large stage, a rather unique one at that. Completely circular, it seemed that one would be able to see the center of the area from any angle. The stage itself was put farther down than the sloping seats, and a balcony of more seats sat above the lower ring. Soraka and Cadao led him around the upper ring and down more stairs, around the uppermost part of the lower seating area, he assumed. Here, there were private rooms, a few with people already in them.

It seemed Cadao was well known here, as several people entering or leaving the rooms pointed, waved, or seemed ready to pass out when he was seen. He would casually smile, wave, and continue on his way, his conversation with Soraka never faltering. The people rarely glanced at Yi, but those who did sent dirty or jealous looks at him as he trailed behind the other two.

They passed a few other people in work uniforms that were pushing carts. Some were cleaning staff, others had carts of food being set up along major walkways, pulling out snacks and drinks to put on display. When Yi got to glance at the lower stage, he noted that there were several dozen people running around the stage, probably preparing for whatever performance was going to occur later in the night. Their walk eventually led to a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." Here, Soraka pulled out a key for the door, and the trio proceeded to the single elevator beyond.

When they were in the elevator, Cadao turned to Yi. "So you're a PROJECT, are ya?"

Yi was only slightly caught off guard by his question. He hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation overall. "Y-yes. I am," he managed to reply without being too awkward. The stutter felt strange on his tongue, and Soraka gave him a strange look for it.

Cadao, on the other hand, was unaffected by Yi's hesitation. "That's awesome! That makes what? Fifty something PROJECTS you guys have saved so far? Isn't that about all of the Champions who aren't already SHADOWS? I mean, I know some of the Champs woulda been unable to be PROJECT-ified already because of them being immortal and shit like that. Imagine if a Soraka PROJECT was out there and you two met. That would be some crazy shit man! But with the, what was it, seven? SHADOWS that are out there right now and the fifty something PROJECTS we have in safe houses that puts a majority of available PROJECTS done for, right? We're down to only about half on the table, and a few that are banned PROJECTS due to existing issues. We're making progress, Raka!"

Yi's brow would have furrowed if it could (he still wasn't sure if he had a brow to furrow, more a feeling of the movement) at the inflow of information. If fifty something was half the Champions, then there was only about a hundred Champions in the ancient League that Soraka had mentioned. How could a group of fighters that small be such a feared source of power in the world, as people thought. How did he know it was a feared power?

Yi shook the memory headache off, the pinching in his head reducing to a dull ache behind where his eyes would be.

The elevator dinged, letting the three of them emerge into what Yi presumed was a backstage area. Doors with maintenance related names lined the hallway, the lights were a dim orange, and wires lined the floors. Soraka had apparently shifted the conversation away from PROJECTS, as the next thing Cadao said was about the upcoming performance.

"We got about two hours, so most of the people should be showing in the next thirty or so minutes. Everyone wants to get here as soon as the doors open, I hope your bar is ready for the people coming in," Cadao spoke quickly. Yi wondered if the boy ever stopped talking.

"I would appreciate being able to introduce Yi to her, if you would not mind," Soraka calmly stated, cutting Cadao's endless narrative off. The blue haired teen smiled brightly before he nodded.

"She's in her room, right down this way," Cadao almost skipped down a side hall. This one was far better lit, and there were a few other people milling about here behind ropes. Cadao greeted these people with that bright smile, a cocky wave, and some kind of hand motion; two fingers in a v. "I'll be right back, hunnies," the teen said, motioning to Soraka. "Gotta escort this fine lady to her destination."

A few girls in the line, most of them around Cadao's age, nearly swooned at his words. One gave Soraka a dangerously poisonous glare that the woman calmly ignored. When they rounded the next corner, Cadao chuckled.

"I'm a superstar, in case you didn't catch on," Cadao smirked at Yi. "All these people are here to see me, my band, and one of the greatest musicians ever heard."

There were considerably less people around this corner, but there was still a small line of people outside of the room. These people had a small buffet line beside them as well as a few cushioned chairs.

"The tickets to get back here and hang with her pre and post show are expensive as ass," Cadao whispered. "These people are almost half of our income here, so we respect the hell outta them. As it is, they're all about to leave anyway. We're down to an hour left before we sound check and get on for our opening act." He waved happily at a few of the retreating fans before turning to Soraka. "Say hi to her for me, will ya? I gotta get back to my line and then get out there for checks."

"I always do, friend," Soraka smiled.

"I owe ya one, Raka," Cadao bowed out, vanishing back toward where his line had been. Yi swore he heard a few high pitched squeals.

"You came at just the right time, friend," Soraka said, her words soft in the silence Cadao left. "She loves to meet any PROJECTS that come to her concerts, and if you choose to stay here, you'll work right alongside her." Soraka lightly rapped on the door before opening it to allow him in.

The room was dimly lit by candlelight, a strange thing compared to the city outside. The two people in the room looked up when they entered. A short, mousy looking girl clutching a clipboard to her chest bowed shyly and rushed out the door, saying something about set lists and soundboards. The other person was a graciously gifted woman, and Yi almost felt the need to avert his eyes. She wore a bodysuit that left very little to the imagination, despite how inorganic it made her appear. A sleek helmet covered her face, dimly pulsing with a faint light. The mask lit up when the woman saw Soraka. She clapped her hands happily and waved them in.

"Yes, this is him," Soraka said with a smile. She fell silent for a moment before nodding again. "You would have known him as Master Yi, the Ionian Sword master."

Yi felt like he was missing a part of the conversation.

The masked woman turned to him, her mask pulsing with a bright blue light, akin to a smile. A series of gargled noises, soft and harmonic, came from her. It was as if she was trying to speak.

Soraka quickly explained. "Yi, this is the PROJECT of Sona Buvelle, a musician from the days of the League. In the past, she was mute, and even though her body now can technically speak, she seems unable to due to her old memories."

Sona bowed when her name was said, as if introducing herself. She glanced at Soraka before the other could continue.

"Sona wishes to know if you will accept a temporary mental link with her. The Champion Sona was very skilled in a variety of magics, one of which was telepathy. She uses it to speak, but she prefers that those she speaks with are asked first."

"I see no problem with it." Yi said. "Go right ahead."

A strange feeling washed over him then, a nudge at his mind. It was odd, but he let it in with only a slight hesitation.

 _From my mind to yours._

"Is that you then?" Yi asked. Sona nodded. "Hello then, Sona Buvelle. I am Yi."

 _It is very nice to meet you._

"In ancient times, Sona was a world renowned musician, and for a while she was in a band with a few other Champions," Soraka continued. "It was a strange bunch, and she was definitely the odd man out. She played alongside a ghoul, two undead specters, and a raging drunk of a Freljordian." Soraka chuckled. "The quiet and peaceful Sona was a strange addition to their mix. In any case, she woke here with very little knowledge except for her music. She has been able to rewrite all of the songs they ever made, as well as write several new ones using recent technology. Cadao helped her design an amazing new instrument to replace her ancient Ethwal."

 _I find myself missing my friends, even though I never really knew them._ Sona's soft voice echoed through Yi's mind. _I don't know that they'd recognize me now, I'm so different than I remember._

Soraka didn't seem to hear the other woman's words, continuing her history lesson. "Sona held the ability to change people with her music, be it emotionally or physically, turning the sounds her instrument made into weapons like none other. In all of history, no one has been able to duplicate her abilities."

 _I feel like an echo of the Champion I was. The Sona I used to be was much more powerful, now I have to focus on the power to summon it. It's strange, but,_ Sona paused. _But you've felt it too, haven't you?_

Yi started at that, and Soraka, sensing the mental conversation that was occurring, fell silent to observe.

 _You_ have _felt it. When you first awoke, a burst of energy like you've never felt before._

 _-He had to move faster, the Shadow leapt at him, he had to move._

 _Faster._

 _FASTER._

 _Light-_

Sona leaned forward, her mask darkening as Yi relived the moment. When he finally shook the memory off, she sat back.

"You will not stay here," Sona's words were hardly recognizable as she spoke out loud. She continued telepathically.

 _You have seen too much to stay still here, to do nothing. You will not choose to stay here. You will join them and fight for what is right._

 _I would do the same, but I do not wish to bring harm with my power. I live in the footprints of Sona Buvelle, a gifted sorceress and healer. I play my music for thousands of innocents. I live alongside Sona's descendants. I do not want them to think of her differently because of how I am. I want them to see her as a kind soul, as she was._

 _You, however, you are a fighter. The life of peace is not for you, there is a thirst in your mind. I can sense it. You will not stay here._

There was a light rap on the door, and the mousy haired girl from before poked her head in. "Miss Sona, ten minutes until we go live."

Sona nodded. As the girl left, the musician turned back to Yi.

 _Fight hard, warrior. Fight for what it right, and fight for yourself. We will be here whenever you need us, but for now, I wish you the best of luck._

Sona stood, bowed, and practically floated to the hall outside, a duo of bright green-blue lights springing from her helmet to look like hair. The twintails of magic fluttered in an invisible wind.

Soraka considered Yi curiously, and Yi avoided meeting her gaze. "I shall not pry into what she said, friend," the woman said. "She says something to every PROJECT who comes here, something special for their ears only. Whatever she said is something you should consider when you make your choice."

"How does she know what I'm thinking?" Yi asked hesitantly. He believed it had something to do with her magic, but he was unsure.

"How much do you know about the League of Legends?" Soraka asked.

"I-" Yi hesitated—another thing that felt wrong—and thought it over. How much DID he know about the League? He searched his memory carefully, ending up with nothing but a pulsing headache. There were large holes in parts of memories that he felt should have been complete, and other memories that didn't seem to fit. They were like a puzzle whose pieces were scattered, and none of the colors matched any others. He sighed. "Not much. My memory is not complete."

Soraka nodded in understanding. "The League was established as a peacekeeping power. It staged battles between chosen Champions of different countries as a replacement for full-scale war. It was an attempt to keep the planet from splitting open due to magical strain, as well as a way to save countless lives.

"In the days of the League, Champions and Summoners created mental bonds during their battles. Champions were required to have very powerful minds, wills, and often magical affinity to link with possibly dozens of Summoners in a day," Soraka explained. "Sometimes, mental projections of Champions would be used to let multiple Summoners use the same Champion in multiple battles at one time. The Champions skilled in telepathy, such as Sona, were able to copy that same method of linking.

"When a Summoner and Champion are linked together, they are like one. Their minds know every part of the other. This is why Sona asks permission before connecting to another person. It can seem invasive, but it is a two way road. While she can see all of your mind, you can also see all of hers. Now that she has left, you may feel some remnants of her mind. They feel like hazy dreams to most people."

Yi searched his mind and found that there was indeed something strange there. As if a fog consumed a few heartbeats here, a few heartbeats there. The feeling faded quickly, and the strange feeling from earlier was completely gone. Sona was no longer in his mind.

Soraka smiled. "You felt it," she seemed only faintly surprised. "You have some magic in you after all, swordsman. If you keep trying to hone it, you will eventually figure out your own type of magic. The skills Champions used were often magical in nature, though not many people know it anymore. Magic runs in the blood. There are so many of the new generation that would have been snatched up by academies of magic or Hextech, but they will never get the chance to learn about their power. They will never get to unlock the magic that fills the world, never get a chance to be as the Champions that came before them."

A look of sadness took over the woman, and Yi let silence fill the room. He wasn't sure what to say. Having no knowledge of magic himself, he was unable to relate to what she said, to share the memories of ancient magicians and epic battles. It pained him to know so much was missing from his memory. He didn't remember that ancient time of magic and power. He was apparently a great Champion, a wielder of magics unique to him, yet he didn't remember any of it.

Soraka shook herself out of her trance, and regained her bright smile. "Well, let us not linger on the ancient past too long. I will show you to the room you may watch the concert from. I believe Y-Yasuo will be there as well."

Yi nodded, but he didn't miss the way her voice strained over Yasuo's name.

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* * *

.

Their room was above the first ring of seating. It offered a perfect view of the stage below, as well as muffling the sound of the large crowd that had accumulated. They had to wade through rivers of people and merchandise stands to get here, and as Soraka excused herself, Yi was secretly grateful to be at their destination. His mind had obsessed over every movement that every person in view had made, and he could see almost completely around him. It had stressed him, and the feeling of being in danger had not yet left.

The room was small, yet cozy. There were a few outer chairs, so one could step out and be a part of the crowd during the concert, as well as a sunken bar behind thick glass. A couch sat on the level above the bar; a cozier way to watch the concert. The wall by the door had a small cabinet of chilled drinks, a sink, and several platters of food and snacks. The lighting was dimmed, to draw focus to the stage below, yet enough to see by.

Yasuo was indeed in the room, slouched at the bar, helmet discarded by the chilling cabinet. He sat beside a strange, bulb-like jug and an almost bowl shaped cup that he drank from. A hand on his forehead, the man refilled his cup, only to down the serving in a single gulp.

Yi remained silent as the lights outside the room dimmed, and someone below began to talk about the history of the music they were about to hear. Something about ancient times, relics being found, and transcribing. Then something about five ancient beings following dark musics. Yi didn't catch the whole speech because Yasuo spoke up in the middle of it.

"Don' jus' stan' 'ere," the swordsman slurred. The words were clearly not complete, but were still pretty comprehendible. Yasuo waved him to the bar. "'ou gotta sit near th' glass t'see."

Yi made his way to the bar, sitting one spot down from the other PROJECT.

"'d off'r ya a drink, bu' I 'unno f'ya can drink wi' tha' mask," Yasuo chuckled bitterly, his slight accent showing in his drunken speech. "N'ffence."

"No offense taken," Yi replied, surprised that he could understand the man.

It struck him that Yasuo was exactly that; a man. Without his helmet, with his hair only slightly spiked, not pulled into the typical high ponytail—it had apparently been taken out earlier in the night—with his face downturned, eyes red, and with an expression of sour humor, Yasuo looked exactly like a man. He didn't seem a PROJECT, he didn't seem a majestic or fantastic warrior. How was this man the leader of the PROJECTS anyway? He looked like a man playing dress up in a PROJECT's armor.

Yasuo downed another drink as the first song started playing. Yi watched Cadao walk around the stage, waving a hand to pump up the crowd, a microphone in the other hand. A trio of other people were on stage, and Yi recognized one of the bartenders from upstairs was playing a drum set with a fevered energy. The two remaining people played types of guitars. Cadao's voice was a melodious scream, to put it mildly, but the crowd was eating it up. The lowest ring of people, on the same level as the stage, was bobbing up and down as people jumped and cheered. The music filtering through the room speakers and the muffled shouts of the crowd were the only sounds in the room.

The song was a call to action, a call from an ancient warrior to all of his followers. A call to war, a questioning of how they should proceed. The next was the image of a battlefield, a once peaceful land torn by the death of a king and wicked monsters that rose from the depths of shadows and darkness. The third song was about a mythical armor left by the same king, and something inside Yi cringed at the song, as if tasting a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

A loud sigh came from Yasuo, causing Yi to glance over as the next song began, though he shortly decided to look back at the stage. (It seemed that this song had no words, but the crowd kept up its relentless jumping and screaming. Cadao had moved to a sort of board of keys, adding more to the music as well.)

"I dun' e'en know why I like 'is drink," Yasuo slurred, a bit less drunk sounding than before, though Yi found it hard to believe that a few minutes could sober someone after drinking as much as Yasuo likely had. Especially when considering the four other jugs of drink that were apparently empty on the counter behind them. "'e liked it, bu' I dunno why I do."

That caught Yi's attention. He turned to face the other man. "He?"

"Yasuo."

"You are Yasuo," Yi's brows would have furrowed, and he found himself damming their potential nonexistence.

"Nah, I ain't Yasuo," the other PROJECT slurred.

"Then who are you?" Yi asked after a moment.

Yasuo coughed out a laugh that quickly descended into silent giggles. (It truly was strange to see a grown man giggle, of all things. Yi blamed the drink.) "I ain't Yasuo. I'm just a guy pretenin' to be him." For a moment, Yasuo almost seemed sober, his expression flattening, his voice dropping. "I'm just a guy with his memories stuck in my head."

Yi didn't know how to reply to that. It made sense that they weren't the original Champions… The Champions all lived centuries ago, after all. There was no way they were the same bodies as the Champions had been, but Yi found it difficult to imagine that he wasn't what his memories were saying he was.

But what did the memories tell him? That he was searching for vengeance? That a place he held dear was destroyed and he was bitter about it? Was there something more than that, deep down? And what about his behavior now? He couldn't help but behave timidly, cautiously, but that seemed so wrong to him. Being cautious wasn't something the Yi of the past would do, but it was something he had been doing since he first woke up. Yi was pulled from his thoughts when Yasuo spoke.

"Think a'out it," Yasuo waved a hand, "We aren't 'em, we couldn't be. Yet we take their names, we think we're them, we use their abilities… We've stolen e'erything 'at we are, yet we feel no remorse. We're disgustin'."

Silence fell after that, and Yi slowly began to realize why Yasuo looked so tired, so human. So much on his mind, and Yi could barely begin to comprehend the weight of those Yasuo was trying to lead.

Except he could.

Something inside him ached for the other swordsman. Yi knew EXACTLY what it felt like to have so many lives depend on him.

—The child looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. He said something to the boy, and the child nodded, ran. He turned to face the opponent, who snarled through his helm. He would not let any more die. He would not let any more of his own down. He brandished his sword as an ancient energy rushed through him, humming in his very bones—

Yes, Yi knew exactly how Yasuo felt, he just didn't know how to explain it.

.

.

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* * *

 **A/N: This chapter is far more like that 6,000 word chapter I said I could do. Now that we've seen a shorter chapter and a longer one, I'd love to hear which you guys prefer. Shorter (~3,000 words) or longer (~5-6,000 words). Obviously, shorter chapters mean more frequent updates, but longer chapters makes me spend more time on them, which lets me catch more errors and whatnot.**

 **Speaking of which, I found some ridiculous typos in the first two chapters, and WOW those are terrible. I am so sorry about that, guys. I may go back and fix them later, but idk yet. We'll see.**

 **Now, for the reason I really wanted to write this little block down here... I'd LOVE to hear from all of you! I got a whole 8 of you following right now, and only 2 reviews. That makes me sad. xD**

 **I love any reviews, I don't mind poor English or criticism or anything, just let me know you're there, please. It makes me feel good about myself. lol. I've also sworn to myself to reply to all reviews that I can reply to, even guests, which will be replied to in this ending A/N at some point.**

 **(Speaking of which, this whole note is kinda a reply to _Helloelohelloh_ who reviewed on Chapter 1. So, hiya, Helloel!)**

 **.**

 **I promise the next chapter will start having plot and action. Introductions to all the players in this story are going to be... interesting, to say the least. I have some odd Champs and Descendants that are gonna show up soon.**

 **Oh, also, if you want a certain Champion or Descendant to appear, let me know in a review, and I'll see what I can do! I know where I want most of them to show up, I just need to know which ones you want to see. Bonus points if you can name all the songs Cadao and friends play in the concert.**

 **.**

 **Man, this A/N is long, but this is why I put it at the end all the time. As usual, thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you want (you can tell I love reviews), and a fave or follow if you really want to... Doesn't really matter, but all three are much appreciated!**

 **That's the only time I'll ask for those this story. I promise. Other than specific questions or polls, I will not ask for reviews or fave/follows again. Thank you for your patience. :3**


	4. Shadows

**A/N: Oh boy, a new chapter!**

 **Kinda surprised I got so carried away with this one, even though it gave me so many issues.**

 **Rambling saved for end, If you wanna hear.**

 **.**

 **WARNING**

 **Chapter contains moderate amounts of swearing!**

 **(IDK why I put this here, but it makes me feel better about myself, shush)**

 **Enjoy!**

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* * *

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 **Part Four:**

 **Shadows**

 **.**

 **Or:**

 **Of Midnights and Memories**

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Soraka let the familiar music wash over her, allowing herself a moment in her memory. This music had been written by ancients for the ancients, and Soraka had frequently gone to Pentakill's performances, when the band had toured Valoran. She stood at the back of the sound booth, watching the workers run the show from behind the scenes, watching sound balance, working lights. The first soft notes of a familiar instrumental sounded through the room, and Cadao began talking to the crowd.

"In ancient times, valiant warriors flourished through the land," he said, "Some were normal people, like you and me. They battled among immortals and giants, spectres and gods. The music you hear now was made by them as well, passed down through generations, until it could be heard by your ears. Enjoy this moment!" the fanfare blared with a rise in energy, and the light crew scrambled to get the next set ready. Soon, they would not be needed, however.

The music went on for another minute or so before the last gentle note fell off, letting the whole arena fade to black.

Then, lights slowly reappeared, pulsing with a soft beat as something rose from below the stage, bright blue-green flickered as three notes sounded out. Some cheers arose from the crowd at this, but more erupted as twin tails of magic light sprung out of the darkness, the screens around the arena lighting up with the gently moving helmet symbol she went by. Three more notes rang out, and her magic burst from her, taking the form of bright blue lines and bars, bouncing to the beat as DJ Sona took the stage. As the transition finished, the backstage crew visibly sighed with relief, and the crowd surged.

Soraka smiled. Another change of performers completed. She glanced at the small clock on one of the soundboards, and decided to go check on the PROJECTS. She bowed out of the sound booth, weaving through the sparse clusters of people on the main walkway, and made her way toward the private suite that held the PROJECTS within it. Only a few of the merchandise booths were open, as well as the occasional refreshment stand, so a vast majority of the walkway was open. Regardless, she was still stopped occasionally by fans who recognized her as the Bar owner and band manager. She exchanged small pleasantries with those who pulled her aside before kindly bowing out of the conversations.

As Soraka rounded the corner that would lead to the private suites, she had to freeze to avoid another person. The person was considerably shorter than her, and easily ducked out of vision. Soraka caught a glimpse of white hair, as well as a vaguely female voice that half-heartedly apologized. The Starchild did not spare a glance back for the person; running into someone in these halls was not uncommon at all. That was, until a far-too-sober PROJECT Yasuo bolted out the door to his suite, glanced frantically around, and caught a glimpse of the shorter female that had just passed Soraka by.

"Hey!" Yasuo called, not hesitating to bolt after the stranger. Soraka had always been impressed at how unaffected Yasuo was by alcohol. The first of his steps had a slight stumble, but he quickly recovered, and was full-speed sprinting after the female in a heartbeat.

Soraka was still attempting to comprehend what had just occurred when the PROJECT suite door opened again, and a PROJECT Yi bolted out, copying Yasuo's previous movements before locking onto Soraka.

"Where'd he go?" Yi asked quickly.

"This direction, toward the exit," Soraka easily matched Yi's pace as the two moved to follow. "Did something happen?"

"You might say that," Yi replied. Soraka could hear the frown in his voice. "I think he remembers her."

That caught Soraka's attention. The chances of a PROJECT recognizing a person out of the blue was very low, and normally meant something from their ancient memories had appeared. Yasuo, in particular, had not remembered anything in years. To have him suddenly dashing off after a stranger, especially drunk, was an anomaly.

"There he is!" Yi pointed. Sure enough, Yasuo's disgruntled white hair bobbed through the crowd ahead of them, less a tall pineapple and more an over-fluffed cloud, due to his ponytail not being pulled back. He was expertly weaving in and out of the sparse crowd, chasing the unseen goal in front of him.

"I will contact the other PROJECTS, can you keep up with him?" Soraka asked, then she mentally hit herself. Of course he could keep up, he was the PROJECT of Master Yi. Very few Champions could ever hope to match his speed.

"I got it," Yi nodded. He stopped matching her speed, then, breaking into a full run of his own. He almost glided around obstacles, easily matching Yasuo's pace.

As the PROJECTS vanished from view up the stairs and likely out of the bar above, Soraka veered right, heading for another backstage entrance. She darted past the sound booth again, where the crew was enjoying the energetic and kinetic beat of the song. Ironically, it seemed to contrast with the situation. While the song itself encouraged movement, it was also upbeat and bright, and held none of the tension the situation called for.

Soraka smiled at the thought. It had been a while since her thoughts had been even slightly ironic. It was a pleasant change of pace.

Her destination was finally in sight. She ducked in the small communication room. It served both as a place to coordinate backstage efforts and the PROJECTS hidden around the city. None of the people in the room looked up at her entrance, which Soraka found she was thankful for. She did not have time to explain anything at this point. She took over one of the small communication booths, casting her silencing spell again to keep others from overhearing. She quickly used the terminal to call for Fiora, desperately hoping someone was near the other terminal.

The machine rang once, twice, and was answered on the third. A small, floating screen of magic appeared, and on it appeared the face of the small Yordle Lilleth. "Residence of Raksha K- oh hi, Soraka!" the Yordle hesitated. "What's wrong? You look like you just ran a marathon."

"No time for that, Lilleth," Soraka hissed, only now realizing just how out of shape she had become while tending to her bookstore. "I need to speak with them. Now."

Lilleth nodded, clearly understanding how urgent the situation was. Soraka was forced to wait as the young Yordle detached the terminal screen and sprinted down the hidden stairs. She had clearly disabled the audio feed, as she seemed to speak frantically, yet made no noise. Soraka allowed herself to be impressed with the technology. If there was one good thing that had emerged over the years, it was this; the ability for anyone to talk with anyone else almost instantly. In the past, only the most powerful artifacts offered this ability, and most messages had to be sent by hand.

A soft click pulled Soraka out of her thoughts; the audio was back, and the PROJECTS were gathered tight around the screen. Except Lucian, he was sitting back in his chair, as if only half interested in the conversation. That man had only ever cared about two things. Soraka shook her mind clear. That man was not Lucian, she reminded herself. That man was a copy of him.

"What's going on?" The heavy Demacian accent was clearly Fiora. "You never call on this terminal."

"Something has come up," Soraka started. She hesitated. She had rushed all this way to call for them, but for what? What had been happening? What had the woman said that got both PROJECTS so invested in a chase? Soraka let out a sigh as Fiora motioned for her to continue. "Someone approached Yasuo and Yi in their suite today. A woman I have never seen before. They have ran off, and I do believe they may be in need of assistance soon."

Fiora frowned, then turned to Raksha. "Find them, now."

"Yes mother," Raksha droned, earning himself a poisonous glare that he pointedly ignored.

Soraka was about to ask what they had been talking about that had gotten even Raksha upset, but Leona shook her head. Clearly, now was not the time for that particular conversation.

In the background, Fiora was having a minor argument with Lucian.

"You're still injured from the last mission, you are not allowed to come on this one as well," Fiora snapped. "It would be too much of a risk for all of us."

"You know just as well as I do that I don't give a damn about an injury. If they need help, they need help. What if it's SHADOW? You'll need everyone we got," Lucian countered.

"No means no, Purifier. You are staying here and that's final."

Fiora's tone left no room for debate. The gunman sank back into his chair with a frown.

"Ass," Raksha announced suddenly.

"What is it this time?" Fiora snapped. She was on edge like Soraka had never seen her before.

"The asshole left his helmet at Raka's. He's got no tracker." Raksha frowned. "And before anyone asks, Yi doesn't _have_ a tracker yet, so that's a dead end."

Soraka grimaced at the revelation.

Yasuo and Yi were on their own.

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* * *

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Yi felt a strange serenity as he raced after Yasuo. Something about running, about ducking in and out of a crowd, chasing the flashes of white and black ahead of him felt… right. It all felt right.

Yet it all felt so wrong.

It was strange, feeling so at ease when something potentially dangerous was about to occur. It was as if he had trained for this, as if he had been made for this.

But he had, hadn't he?

 _You are a fighter. The life of peace is not for you, there is a thirst in your mind…_

Sona's words echoed through his mind. Perhaps he was thirsting for something. The thought made him pause. He was thirsting for something. But what was it?

He burst out of the bar and onto the mostly deserted street, and then he realized he'd lost Yasuo. Glancing side to side, Yi felt the surprised glances of a couple in an alleyway on his back. He was taking too long, where did they go?

He closed his eyes, focusing. A haze fell over him, blocking out sounds, muffling feelings. He was thirsting for something, searching for something. What was it?

 _Yasuo_ , he thought. _I have to find Yasuo._

It was as if a wave washed the haze away, and the world became startlingly clear to him. Yi could smell the bar behind him, smell the ale, beer, wine. He could feel the vibrations of the concert below, the bass thrumming in a constant tempo, almost too faint to feel. He could feel the night air cooling on his metallic skin. Everything came into focus. Above it all; louder than the cat yowling a few blocks down, louder than the certain activities of the couple in the alley behind him, louder even than the bar at his back, he heard it. A pair of footsteps and the gentle clink of a sword, somewhere to his left.

He'd found the threat, the clink of his metal armor was too obvious. A rancid stench slunk through the air, sticking to everything. He turned to the armor sound, locking in on its location, and ran, coming face to face with the tall, black armored figure that—

Yi's eyes shot open, pulling himself from the memory. He had to move now. The sound of Yasuo's footsteps was faint, but locked in his mind. The stench stuck in his mind, but he shoved it back. There was no time to get lost in memories right now. He turned toward the sound of Yasuo and ran.

His own speed surprised him. Yi easily began to close the gap between himself and his target, but then hesitated as Yasuo's pace slowed considerably, eventually stopping. Yi gave this a pause, but quickly decided to move on, rushing toward the other swordsman off of instinct.

A sound shattered the night's silence, ricocheting off the buildings and rattling windows in their sills. A column of smoke emerged over one of the rooftops, and Yi slid to a stop. Something had just blown up.

 _Flames raked through the village, eating at wood walls and thatched roofs. Screams for help echoed from the trapped souls inside, doubling every time the ground shook with another explosion. The rancid smoke filled the air, mixing with the strange scent and chemicals. The very air itself was burning the skin of those it touched. If not for his armor, he too would have emerging welts, flaking skin, melting eyes—the horrors increased with every shake of the ground, and the smoke blotted out the sun. Something stirred inside of him, a flame sparked into existence with those bombs…_

Gunfire exploded through the night. Yi frowned, shaking off the memory. It had been more vivid than the rest. More… clear. Taking a breath to clear his mind, he refocused on the task at hand, making a beeline for the location of the explosion.

He didn't have time to waste.

He ran.

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* * *

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Raksha adjusted the helmet for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It was strange to see everything in a purple haze, instead of a green one. He sucked in a small breath of mana, expending it on his mantra, this time focusing on _Sungi_ —quickly. He felt a burst of energy, and he picked up his pace. The green haze falling over his vision, restoring the normal coloring to the buildings around him as it clashed with the purple visor.

As he moved, he became over aware of the floating mantle behind him, the twin arcs forming an ancient, forgotten emblem. As it was, the two dragons were artificial, made of dark metal and glowing with the same purple magic his visor had. As the green from his magic was added, the light turned white, shoving back the darkness of the alley around him.

"Report," Fiora's voice barked through his helmet communicator.

"Nothing here," Leona replied.

"They aren't south," Soraka's voice echoed.

"Nothing this way either," Raksha grumbled into the helmcom. He glanced down the street he emerged in, ducking away from a night patrol. "We need more feet on the ground. We'll get nowhere like this."

"You should have me out there, you know I move faster than any of you," Lucian grumbled.

"Not injured, you don't," Fiora retorted, "Keep an eye on the map, we need you to keep us on track."

Normally, it would be Raksha watching the map, as it wouldn't do well to have him seen by the PROJECTS in the field. Now, however, he had to don his armor, no matter how uncomfortable the synthetic materials were. He blocked out Lucian's response, re-centering on his mantra.

 _Sungi_. Move quickly.

He checked that the patrol was gone, and darted across the street. They were reaching the far northern part of the city, where the buildings were less developed, and the people generally poorer. The tall skyscrapers of New Zaun rose behind him, reaching toward the dark clouds. Here, the buildings barely rose three stories. He ducked through a small courtyard, past an ancient dumpster, and into the far alley. Silence finally fell over the com lines, and Raksha mentally praised the heavens for the newfound quiet.

That silence was the problem, though. If not for the humming of his magic, Raksha would be put off by the pure stillness of the night. Nothing was moving, nothing was making sound. It was almost serene. He couldn't so much as smell the stench of the city because of his helm's filters. It was unsettling.

And then something exploded. The ground around him shook, and a large pillar of flame and smoke appeared a few blocks away from him.

"Every time I go out, this shit happens to me," Raksha complained under his breath.

"What was that?" Fiora snapped over the helmcom. She was irritated.

"Explosion by me, on the way to check it out," Raksha stated, forcing his voice into the formal monotone he hated so much. "Converge on my location."

"Tracking now," Lucian replied quickly. "He's just north on-"

Raksha blocked Lucian out, instead ducking around another corner and recalling _Sungi_. A burst of speed hit him, and he raced down the street toward the explosion, only to spin down another alley as a patrol of bots raced by.

"Fuck," Raksha hissed. He quickly called on the helmcom, "We have company at the location, almost definitely the targets. In pursuit, going dark." He didn't wait for a reply, only turning off the com. In the relative silence that resulted, he breathed in another large portion of mana.

 _Sungi_.

Quickly.

He darted out of the alleyway, running close on the patrol's heels, just out of detection range. Gunfire sounded close by, and the patrol turned a corner, opening fire. Raksha paused less than a beat to identify the golden blur that the patrol was firing at. In the slightest pause of motion, Raksha identified the bright humming orange dual blade of Yi. The swordsman was almost immediately in motion again, vanishing in a blur as four nearby bots exploded into debris. Raksha wondered how long Yi had been fighting.

He shook off the thought and leapt into action, focusing on _Jia_ —pain—to distract the patrol he had followed. The mana raced through him, manifesting at the mantle behind him, before a wide burst of magic sprouted from his hand, which he promptly tossed into the patrol in front of him. His entry into the fight caught Yi's attention, and the swordsman hesitated to glance at the new fighter.

A stray bullet raced toward the PROJECT, and Raksha reached out his magic, focusing on Yi and quickly switching mantras.

 _Signon_.

Shield.

The bullet stopped in its tracks at the bright green bubble that surrounded Yi. Raksha reached out with a _Sungi_ , speeding his ally up. Yi seemed unfazed by the sudden energy and green haze that would have settled on his vision. The swordsman glanced at Raksha in his next pause, and was immediately in motion again, only faster due to the mantra giving him power.

The whole exchange had lasted no more than a second, and Raksha quickly gave himself a _Signon_ to ward off a nearby bot's attack.

It seemed as if every bot in the city was here; the entire intersection was swarming with them. There were rumors that there were more police bots in the city than there were citizens. If that was true, the few hundred that seemed to be here were a very small selection. Every time that one collapsed in sparks and flames, another one or two would race in to take its place.

Eventually, Raksha got into his rhythm. It had been a long time since he last had to fight, but the pattern was so regular to him that it simply came naturally. He found himself weaving in one other mantra; _Saera_ —magic. _Saera_ took the form of a sphere around him, barely visible, and extended and enhanced his magic, mana, and senses. He could draw in more mana in each breath, sense things happening on all sides of him, and cast spells faster while in this sphere. It was as if the world around him was moving slower, allowing him to dance around the bullets, spinning and twirling as _Jia_ bolts left his hands in a near constant stream. _Saera_ pulsed at his very core, and the beat of his heart became his metronome.

 _Jia._

 _Signon._

 _Sungi._

 _Saera._

 _Jia._

 _Signon._

 _Sungi._

 _Saera._

 _Jia._

It was perfect.

A bot darted in close, unfazed by the barrage of magic coming from its adversary. Raksha instinctually lashed out with a fifth mantra; _Taesa_ —tether. A sort of rope of magic latched onto the bot, connecting mage and machine and causing the bot to freeze in place for a _Jia_ bolt to strike out.

It was strange how well the new mantra fell into place.

 _Jia._

 _Signon._

 _Sungi._

 _Saera._

 _Taesa._

The magic tethers soon surrounded him, connecting to dozens of bots, causing them to stop mid attack, freeze in place, or slowly grind to a halt. He danced around the bots, _Jia_ flowing like water, _Signon_ and _Sungi_ alternating in perfect rhythm, _Saera_ pulsing through his every bone. This was right.

This was what he was meant to do. He wasn't made for diplomatic bullshit, for pacifism. He wasn't meant to be a peacekeeper. He was a fighter, a dancer in the midst of battle, a conduit for magic and power, the perfect balance of beauty and lethality. That was his third path; the path of balance. Perfection in the midst of danger, the flowing mana and gathering magic, the simple dodges and precise flourishes.

This was him.

A _Marish_ —flourish—mantra sent his foes flying away from him, _Sungi_ sped _Jia_ bolts following in their wake, _Taesa_ holding them in place as he easily skirted around any retaliation. He danced to the pulse of _Saera_ in the air, the magic audibly humming as he struck with a deadly accuracy. The pattern continued endlessly, and he got lost in the battle.

Then, he ran out of targets.

He spun to a halt, a _Jia_ bolt manifested in his hand. Checking the _Saera_ bubble, he found it warning of nothing. Then he opened his eyes, not even realizing he had shut them in the first place.

Yi stood nearby, having just dispatched the last bot. He, too, glanced around at the intersection, then slowly straightened, his dual ended blade reverting to the single blade. A red-orange glow coursed through the gaps in the PROJECT's armor, and the metal slowly fixed itself. Raksha stood, letting the _Jia_ fade, centering on _Phyla_ for a moment before returning to Sungi. Yi turned to face him cautiously.

"Who are you?"

Raksha frowned, and then remembered his pesky helmet. He had forgotten it during the fight. "Just me," he replied casually.

"Ra-"

"Don't speak," Raksha cut him off, "the walls have ears." He wrote himself a mental note to explain the lack of names when they were in the field. "Where is the target?"

"Just ahead," Yi said, "he didn't get far."

Raksha nodded, flipping on his helmcom. "First target acquired, in pursuit of second."

"Dammit Raksha," Lucian snapped, "Fio is so pissed right now, don't just go dark li-"

"Going dark," Raksha cut the gunman off, switching his com off once more. It was only partially to annoy Lucian. He turned back to Yi, smirking, even though the other couldn't see it. "Let's get moving."

Yi nodded, and they were off.

Yi was clearly not moving as fast as he could have, as Raksha was able to keep a constant _Sungi_ to keep up with him. He wondered absentmindedly if the swordsman was injured or if he was simply holding back to allow the mage to keep up.

It occurred to Raksha that they had not been fighting for as long as he originally thought. The clock in the corner of his visor had barely changed. The exhaustion, however, was slowly catching up to him. He hadn't juggled five mantras in a very long time, and he was quickly realizing he had very little mana left to safely draw upon. That whole fight was reckless.

The two turned what was most likely the last corner, and found what they were looking for. Fighting beside a large, flaming canister (likely the cause of the explosion earlier) was Yasuo and the stranger Soraka had mentioned. Raksha paused just long enough to take in the scene.

The stranger was small, thin and short, and wore a sleek black and silver armor. A pale white fountain of hair sprouted from a small knot on the back of their head, a visor covering their face. They were a swordsman, with a large claymore-esque blade that glowed a dark emerald green. An ancient symbol lay on both chest piece and blade, though Raksha could barely make it out. The stranger was fighting Yasuo with a ferocity Raksha hadn't seen in ages. He called on _Sungi_ and _Jia_ in turn and rushed forward.

Their entrance was not missed. The stranger, clearly a PROJECT of some sort, looked up as Raksha moved, and reacted immediately. A large surge of energy came from their upraised blade, throwing Raksha off balance and stunning Yasuo where he stood. Yasuo made a sweeping motion, and the XX-2-something or another wall sprung up. Raksha had never cared to learn the technical term for the object. Yasuo called it a "wind wall," and he was inclined to do the same. The other PROJECT dashed to the side, and three large arcs of bright green energy surged forward, some kind of magic. Raksha reacted as quickly as he could, but he couldn't gather the mana for _Signon_ fast enough, and one energy arc—the only one to not hit the wall—hit Yasuo dead on.

Raksha yelled something imperceptible, and rushed forward as the swordsman was flung to the ground from the impact. Yi was suddenly on the stranger, beating them back with swift, sure strikes. Raksha took the chance to sprint to the fallen Yasuo's side, throwing up a large Signon shield around the two of them.

The wound was bad. A deep gash across his torso, deepest by his collarbone, where his armor was thinnest. Blood flowed freely, and Yasuo was clutching at his shoulder with a grimace. Raksha pried his hands away to press down on the wound, using a part of Yasuo's scarf as a compress. As he did this, he switched on and began talking quickly into his helmcom.

"Targets acquired, we have wounded," Raksha exclaimed. "We need a healer now."

"Confirmed," Lucian's voice replied. He seemed offset by Raksha's formality. "Healer eta two minutes."

"Acknowledged," Raksha snapped. "We may not have that long."

"I'm on my way," Soraka replied.

Raksha blocked out the rest of the helmcom communications, searching his mind for some mantra to help in this situation. The _Hectari_ —protection—mantra may help, but when he went to breathe his mana in, he found nothing.

"Fuck," Raksha cursed, turning his attention back to the swordsman, "Stay with me."

"Three—" Yasuo drawled, flinching as Raksha pressed harder on the wound, "That—" Raksha could smell the sake on the man's breath, even with his helmet filters. On the bright side, the alcohol would help with the pain. On the downside, Yasuo would be waking up with the mother of all headaches. If he woke up. Raksha chuckled dryly.

"Shut the ever loving fuck up, idiot," Raksha growled, "Stop moving. You aren't helping."

Yasuo didn't seem to hear him, his head rolling, and eyes unfocused. He was losing a lot of blood; Raksha's hands were stained with it, and the thin scarf was practically useless as it was. Yasuo was an early PROJECT, one of the first. He still ran mostly on blood and organic systems. His life support programs would help a bit, but since most of his body was mechanical, every drop of blood that he lost was even more important. Yasuo was mumbling something under his breath, consciousness slipping.

"Dammit man, stay awake," Raksha slapped his cheek gently, in an attempt to keep the swordsman awake.

"They got away," Yi grumbled, kneeling to help, pressing against the other half of the large wound. "I got something off them, though."

Raksha noted the thin cylinder by Yi's leg, but didn't dwell on it. Yasuo strained to look at it, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw it.

"Tha—" He cut off, breathing heavy.

"Stay with me, man," Raksha hissed, "Don't you dare pass out!"

"Tired…" Yasuo slurred.

"Fucking stay awake, damn you!" Raksha desperately pressed on the wound, hoping to do anything to keep the wounded man awake. "Where the ever loving fuck are you guys?" he shouted into his helmcom.

"ETA forty seconds," Lucian replied coldly, "Keep your panties on, asshat."

It took thirty seconds for Yasuo to lose consciousness.

It took twenty more for footsteps to echo around the corner.

Raksha lost track of how much time it took for them to leave the square, wounded swordsman on a makeshift stretcher between them.

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* * *

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When they had finally managed to sneak back into Raksha's mansion, the mage quickly retreated to the second floor. He stripped off his armor, stowing it away in its hidden safe once more, placing the mantle gently above the master suite's fireplace and then turning to shower away the dirt, sweat, and worry that had accumulated in the last few hours. He wouldn't have been any help down below, he would have only gotten in Soraka's way as she went about doing what she did. The woman was remarkably good with healing magic. How she had learned it was beyond him.

He'd always wondered about her. She had approached him several years ago, when Yasuo had only just awoke, asking for his help. He was publicly the descendent of Karma; one of the ancient Ionian Duchesses, but that was but a title at this point. Ionia had sunk a long time ago.

Soraka seemed to be a historian of sorts. She knew so much about the ancient days, the League, and the PROJECTs that were waking up. She had so much magic in her blood that it seemed to make the air around her hum. Soraka would have fit perfectly among the mages and warlocks of old. Too bad her magic would be all but useless in modern times.

Raksha envied her, sometimes. To have such powerful and sure control over her magic, to know exactly how to use it all the time. He was self-taught. Learning from rough translations of old journals that had supposedly belonged to his ancestors, he had figured out the various mantras by trial and error. Soraka, however, seemed to have been born with knowledge of her magic, like it had been there for ages.

Come to think of it, she hadn't changed in nearly a decade…

Raksha shook himself out of his thoughts, finishing his mostly unproductive shower. Drying off and putting on the most basic of outfits—a pair of loose fitting pants—he made his way down the hall to his library. The place felt like a cave, all ebony wood and faint candlelight, but he liked it. It was silent, serene. He easily found the books he was looking for and made himself comfortable on the large rug, leaning against the lounge chair in the corner.

He would be of no use downstairs, but he could look for the symbol on the strange PROJECT's chest plate. Perhaps he would find something about the PROJECT in general, a blade that large was a very unique weapon.

The first book was an old, leather-bound thing, worn and yellowing. The ink was barely legible, and in an ancient script. Between Soraka and himself, they had managed to get a rough translation of the volume. It was some kind of registry, a list of various Champions from the League of Legends. Dozens were marked off with either red or blue, with a number near it. Yasuo, the Unforgiven; blue, one. The first PROJECT to be woken. Zed, the Master of Shadows; red, two. Fiora, the Grand Duelist; blue, nine. Leona, the Radiant Dawn; blue, five. Sona, the Maven of the Strings, blue, seventeen. A small number of the names had no marking or number. Zilean, the Chronokeeper. Aatrox, the Darkin Blade. Morgana, the Fallen Angel. Karma, the Enlightened One.

That last entry made Raksha pause, as it always did. How would he react if his ancestor was to be born a PROJECT? What if Karma, the great keeper of the Third Path were to see him now. Would she approve of his use of her teachings? Would she hate him for studying from her private journals, or what remained of them? Would she help the PROJECTs who were being created? Would she help the SHADOWs? He sighed, moving on.

Whoever had created these profiles had been as accurate as they could be, including weapons, known magical abilities, and a sketch of each Champion, though the artwork was often faded and dull. One entry was of a skeletal jailor, holding a nasty looking scythe and ethereal lantern. No marking on this one; he was supposedly undead. Might even still be haunting the world, and they would never know it. The legendary Harrowing, the Black Mists, never touched the city, kept out by some unseen force.

Flipping farther, Raksha found the profile on Yi. It was tucked in with the other swordsmen, not far from where Yasuo's own profile had been. It was short, simple, and to the point. Master Yi had been a master of a single blade style of swordsmanship of his own invention dubbed 'Wuju style." He had apparently figured out how to accelerate himself unnaturally quickly, using some mix of magic, natural strength, and potentially a sort of Chi-like energy mentioned in several Ionian profiles. His profile hadn't been marked yet. Raksha wrote himself a mental reminder to get to that soon.

The Ionian swordsmen only had one more entry; Shen, the Eye of Twilight. He certainly didn't use a claymore, so Raksha flipped past them. Demacia was a dead end as well; they were known for smaller, faster blades, with the exception of Garen, the Might of Demacia. That legendary warrior had held a blade almost as large as he was, and had the ability to summon one ten times larger on his foes. He was also not a tiny man, and the PROJECT from the fight was almost certainly a woman, with how petite they had been. Noxus was also a dead end; they had no true swordsman, as all of their declared faction members favored larger, unusual, or magical weapons. The closest thing to a sword mentioned was a strange spinning axe used by their executioner. To date, there had not been any Yordles turned into a PROJECT or a SHADOW, and their race was dying out, so the likelihood that any Bandle City Champions was the one was unlikely. That left one real option; the unaligned fighters.

The ancient land of Runeterra must have been a spectacular one, judging by the unaligned fighters. A man-sized wolf who used to be a man, an undying beast with a blade that drank blood, an exile who mastered a Rune Blade larger than herself, a half fish woman who rode on a magical wave that she controlled. He paused, and turned back to the last entry.

"Found it!" he exclaimed, reading frantically.

"Found what?"

Raksha nearly jumped out of his pants at the sudden voice, cursing colorfully.

"Sorry for not knocking, the door was open, so I assumed…" It was Yi.

Raksha sighed, though if it was relief or exasperation, he didn't know. He turned back to his book. "It's fine, make yourself at home. As long as no one but the PROJECTs are here, you can roam all you want."

Yi nodded, shifting awkwardly on the edge of Raksha's vision. After a short while, the man became annoyed by the PROJECT's unease and let out a huff.

"Can I help you?" the mage asked.

"Maybe," Yi made a sound halfway between a growl and a sigh, and then sat across the rug from Raksha. The mage didn't miss the fact that the swordsman was not sitting as much as he was kneeling; in the fashion of ancient Ionia. Raksha held back a laugh when he realized Yi didn't even realize he was sitting unusually.

"What do you need?" Raksha asked, the remnants of the previous though creeping into a smile. He was too tired to fight it down.

Yi was silent for a while, clearly thinking his words over carefully. After a long while, he finally spoke. "If I am not Yi, who am I?"

Raksha's brow furrowed, and he pushed the old records aside. "What do you mean by that? Who else would you be?"

"Lilleth said you have done a lot of research on PROJECTs and the way we're made, right?" Raksha nodded, and Yi continued. "Yasuo said something… earlier… that was interesting," he paused, shifting again in hesitation. Raksha frowned at that. Master Yi was an unstoppable swordsman of the highest sort, the last thing he should do is hesitate. The thought was cut off as Yi spoke again. "Yasuo said we were just men with the Champion's memories in our heads, that we aren't really them, and that we shouldn't pretend that we are. The thing is, I only remember bits and pieces of being Yi, I don't know the whole story, and I have no idea who else I could be, and since you've studied the history of us PROJECTs, I wondered if you could help me figure it out…?"

Raksha let the other man's words trail into silence, considering them for a while. This was the first time someone had ever come to him about such a thing, most PROJECTs simply accepted their memories, moving on without hesitation. But Yi…

"I don't know how much help I can be," Raksha said. "All I really have is some ancient legends, a few research documents we stole from various scientists, and a few really good guesses to offer. I can't look in your head and see what you remember, not while staying humane. There is a way to expand memory through more An-sys cycles, but it's painful, and I won't put you through that. I'm mostly as clueless as you, especially when it comes to the things in your head, so the most I can do is give you a few things to look at, to consider, and I can listen to you ramble if you need, not much else."

"I understand."

Raksha met the gaze of the PROJECT, wondering briefly what was under the helmet of his. Eventually, he nodded. "Okay then. Start with this. These explain everything we know so far about how PROJECTs are made, how An-sys works, and anything else we know about how PROJECTs function cognitively, which is admittedly not much. It's a good start." Raksha slid the small book across the rug. He had intended to put it away earlier in the week, but hadn't gotten to it. It had still been on one of the piles by the chair. "I have a bit of research on the Champions and their history that you can look at later, as well as a rough timeline of ancient events mentioned in various histories and texts, but I'll only let you look at those after you've learned how things work today. You may not want to open that box after knowing how you're made."

Yi picked up the thin book, leafing through the loose papers tucked inside and nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"These books don't leave this room, you hear?" Raksha added. "You won't like what you read."

"To be honest, knowing anything more is better than being in the dark forever," Yi said quietly.

Raksha nodded, and let the conversation die there. Both men turned back to their books, and a deep sense of unease settled in Raksha's stomach as he read more about the potential PROJECT they had encountered. Yi may not like what he saw in those reports, but Raksha was certain he was more afraid of his own reading than Yi would be of the truth. If this truly was the Champion they had been attacked by…

The PROJECTs had been through a lot together so far, but Raksha feared this would be the most difficult by far.

.

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* * *

 **A/N: Oh boy, this chapter gave me problems. Three days ago, I tossed out 4k words that were not working for me, and only the first 250 or so stayed to make the new chapter. I'm slowly realizing I can't do action worth shit. I am so sorry if this is as bad as I think it might be. 6k words in two days or so is bound to leave some major typos someplace...**

 **In any case, I have finally gone from making Yasuo a whining buttface last chapter to having him be very, very injured this chapter. I feel bad. (But not really, because beating up overconfident Yasuo players with Diana is one of my favorite things to do in the entire game, especially when they dash into her shield and bring about their own deaths. No joke, true story.)**

 **Totally wasn't going to have Lil answer "Home of Raksha Kholin, how may I help you?" Nope, I wouldn't use the Kholin name like that. I respect the _Stormlight Archive_ too much for that. =/**

 **Getting back on track, a new enemy has appeared! *le gasp* Whatever shall our heroes do? Next time on PROJECT: Recollections- One of our characters has a mental breakdown! Parties happen! Truths are revealed! And Crysi writes about her glowing car-shaped wireless mouse with functioning headlights? WHAT?**

 **.**

 **Jokes aside, I'm looking forward to this little arc. Though, I do have a question for any of you who sit through my rambles. Two, actually.**

 **1\. How much do you guys REALLY want Pulsefire Ez? Lots of you have been asking, but how much do you REALLY want him?**

 **2\. Which is better: Demacia, Bandle City, the Frelijord, or Bilgewater? (Thinking like four chapters out, but one of those four will make an appearance. You decide which one! Mostly...)**

 **.**

 **I really should be getting to work now, I'm wasting time by sitting here writing this A/N. I'm happy so many of you are enjoying this story so far. I can't wait to hear from you on this new chapter.**

 **Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time!**


	5. Tradition

**A/N: This is late, I'm sorry, feel free to yell at me in the reviews for it. On the bright side, say hello to plot. It's coming (mostly next chapter, but still).**

 **Can we just touch on how cool Aurelion Sol is? Please? He's amazing. I'm so glad I'm on PBE.**

 **No major warnings this chapter.**

 **See you at the ending A/N.**

 **.**

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* * *

 **.**

 **Part Five:**

 **Tradition**

 **.**

 **Or:**

 **Of Papers and Parties**

 **.**

* * *

.

 _ON HISTORY_

 _Before creating a PROJECT, one must understand where they came from. PROJECTS sprung into existence a few decades ago, but when did they start? This research must have happened long before the Collapse, so who began the research, and what exactly IS a PROJECT?_

 _Theories that the so called Shadows of Champions (also called Shadowscapes by some) were created before the Collapse that supposedly happened almost 300 years ago from memory fragments taken from the minds of Champions. They were held together in some kind of magic, a particularly strong one. Assuming the legends are true, the creator of the Shadowscapes would have had to be a particularly powerful mage, likely a Summoner from the League of Legends itself. However, due to the abundance of magic in that time, it could have been a rouge mage that got into the Champions somehow._

 _The Shadowscapes were unearthed by an unknown scientist some thirty years ago, around 275 AV. He never published the location that they were found._

 _Many people believe the analysis of the mysterious Shadowscapes came from wanting to improve the Battlecast Defense Program (BDP) of the time, but the BDP was never referred to in research. Others cite the legend of the Pulsefire Project as the catalyst for the PROJECT revolution, but that leaves the issue of the Pulsefire Project never being officially documented or recognized. One way another, PROJCETS exist, and that leaves the question of how they are made…_

 _DEVELOPMENT_

 _PROJECT development begins with a petition in order to access the Shadowscape pools. After sending the petition in, you will have access to a large pool of Shadowscapes to work with. The full list can be found in the records, and a few of the basics will be covered here._

 _Each Shadowscape is placed based on a number and a color. The colors, Red and Blue, will tell you the type of Shadowscape you are working with. Red are notoriously difficult to analyze in full, as very little leftover magic is embedded in them. Blue Shadowscapes are very magic heavy, and will not Sync without matching magic while analysis is live. It is recommended to start somewhere on the neutral list. The Y-100, Z-100, and D-200 Shadowscapes are all very simple to work with, and have a decent balance between magic and memory. Z-100 leans to red and is best when trying to branch to that side, D-200 is a wonderful start point for blue PROJCET makers, and the Y-100 is a unique Shadowscape that is free to access, but can only be active for a short time, as a way of testing new models. The Y-100 sample is a small, incomplete Shadowscape, and no full Shadowscape will be released for it. Once a Shadowscape has been claimed, only one maker is granted full access. The rest will all be samples, like the Y-100._

 _It should also be noted that the Black Shadowscapes are banned from being analyzed at all, and should not be petitioned for, as all petitions for Black Shadowscapes will be immediately denied._

 _The next step toward making a PROJECT is choosing an analysis method and PROJECT Model. This is the most important part. Certain Models have proven better at certain things. Creation methods, budget, and the maker's magical skill are all factors._

 _In 289 AV, the x700 Implantation Model was created by Doctor Darian Istar and was followed almost immediately in 291 AV with the Zv800 Substitution Model by Proffessor Therium Jon-Stratford. More recently, the Apexx Labs Creation Model has become the next big thing as of 305 AV. All of these methods have their merits, as well as their downfalls. There are obviously variations of each Model, changed to fit various morals, needs, and Shadowscapes. Choose carefully._

 _-The x700 Istar Implantation Model involves an existing subject, one with a 60% Shadowscape sync or better, which is fairly easy to find. It is also the cheapest and most reliable way to create a PROJECT, but also not totally complete. Many skills, magics, and memories can be missing, and subjects frequently become unstable due to the mental strain that occurs during analysis. Further information on the Istar Model can be found on page 32 of this manual._

 _-The Zv800 Stratford Substitution Model is very similar, and has withstood the test of time. This Model ensures a subject's mental stability better than the Istar method as well as transferring all memories and abilities in full. However, it takes a very long time to fully analyze—one analysis being recorded at three years—and requires at least a 90% Shadowscape sync rate, so subjects are very rare, and often limited to blue Shadowscapes due to the magical link found in blood. Further information on the Stratford Model can be found on page 56 of this manual._

 _-The newly emerging Apexx Creation Method is still under testing, so its results are not completely assured. We cannot be certain that this Model will function as intended. Hypothetically, this Model ensures stability, does not require an initial subject, and completely transfers all skills and magics without needing a sync rate. This Model is also very reliable, durable, and completely adjustable, customizable, and controllable. However, it is also the most expensive, most timely, and least tested. Only one successful Apexx Model exists now, and it reportedly took a full ten years to complete. Further information on the Apexx Model can be found on page 79 of this manual._

 _It is highly recommended that novice makers begin with the tried and true x700 Istar method, or the closely related x800 Istar Fused method, as they are the easiest to complete. Experienced makers may attempt the Zv800 or Zv1000 Stratford Substitution or Fused Substitution methods. The Apexx Creation Model should only be attempted by expert makers, as it can be highly dangerous and requires a very precice attention to detail._

 _Once a method is chosen, one must either find a subject (for the Istar and Stratford models) or create the Shell for the Apexx model. Choosing the right subject or Shell is important as…_

Yi let the book close, letting out a shaky breath. This was all so much to take in, and there was still a lot more in the small blue notebook.

"You good?" Raksha asked, not looking up from his books.

"You were right," Yi said softly. "I do not like what I'm reading."

The mage nodded absentmindedly. "Just leave the book here when you're done."

Lilleth ducked into the room with a tray of food, setting it carefully on the floor. She left without a word.

Silence fell over the library again, and Yi turned back to the passage, rereading it to make sure he understood. After the end of the listings, someone had scrawled a note in the margin.

 _Which one am I?_

Those words sat in Yi's head for a long time.

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* * *

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The next few days were a flurry of activity at all hours, the somewhat normal silence shed in favor of a gentle hustle and bustle of people coming and going. Soraka and Cadao were over every morning before the sun rose and would stay until the moon was high in the sky. Soraka would come to check on Yasuo's injuries, and Cadao would always vanish to the upper reaches of the house. Judging by the amount of books he came and went with, he was doing something to help Raksha with the research. Sometimes Raksha would get some kind of political visitor, hoping to talk about the coming gala, and Lilleth would have to kindly wave them away as the PROJECTs took cover in the walls.

In the basement, life was just as adventurous. There were a few PROJECTs that stopped by from other parts of the city, never staying long enough for Yi to fully meet them; Fiora shuffled them to a back room too quickly to take them in. Leona was almost always on one of the communicator lines, trying to gather information on the mysterious SHADOW that had attacked Yasuo. That left Lucian and Yi to do whatever they wanted. Lucian would get into intense conversations with Cadao's band (something about mortality, souls, and some kind of mist). Yi had finished the little blue notebook that Raksha had given him, and was still trying to process it all.

 _Which one am I?_ The question haunted him.

The day of the celebration approached quickly, and it was the end of the week in what seemed like hours. Yasuo had finally waken, and Soraka had cleared him to participate in the festivities, but only if he was exceptionally careful.

The whole thing seemed to be a masquerade, so the PROJECTs were in newly polished red and silver armor, helmets abandoned in favor of white and red masks, cloaks wrapped around shoulders. Each was unique in design.

Leona's mask was a large, snarling horned beast, her cloak wrapped around her broad shoulders loosely, making her seem more masculine than her body already did. Lucian's mask was smooth, with red stripes that resembled some kind of snake. His cloak was a smaller one, and he seemed half Leona's size, despite being the same relative height. Yasuo wore a sharp wolf-like mask with large twin horns on the forehead, completed with a torn and wispy cloak that made him appear as a ragged wanderer. His large ponytail of hair was dyed red except for a small streak of white. Fiora's mask was only half there, covering one half of her face. Her piercing gaze and pale white face made her seem a demon, and the way she carried herself with the asymmetrical cloak made her almost frightening, sharp and defiant. Yi was wearing three masks, really. The front was similar to Leona's without the horns. The other two, positioned on the sides of his head to hide his full helmet, were the same face with two other expressions; one smiling brightly and one glowering angrily. Supposedly, this was some traditional demon. His cloak was the same as he had worn when first visiting Soraka; simple and dark.

"Why the masks?" Yi asked, adjusting his again. They didn't necessarily deny him vision, but they felt large and awkward when he moved his head.

"It comes from an old Ionian tradition that they kept when they were assimilated," Raksha explained, emerging at the stairwell. He wore an elaborate set of deep scarlet robes, his large twin dragon mantle floating behind him, and a mask sitting on top of his head. Everything about the costume screamed importance; golden detail work, perfect craftsmanship, and too many intricate details to count. "The current generation of Ionians still celebrate the Blood Moon around this time of year, which happens to coincide with the Creation Day of New Zaun. As a result, the people have turned it into a week of celebration, masquerades, music, parties, games, and political posturing." He chuckled with a frown. "To think that this used to be a simple way to cleanse worries from one's mind. One night of plays and festival food where only those invited got to play the roles of demons and warriors. It used to be a mark of the highest honor to wear Reina's mask, but now everyone and their brother can wear it whenever they want."

"We've heard this all before, Raksha, give it a break," Leona waved his comments away. "Stop being so bitter. The world isn't ancient Ionia anymore, friend."

"And how would you feel if you found out the Solari traditions had been polluted and disgraced in such a way?" Raksha spat with a glare. "I know you don't remember much of them, but I'm positive that you would despise the people who corrupted your traditions as well."

That caused Leona to pause, and though Yi couldn't see it, he could hear the frown in her next words. "At least _your_ traditions still _exist_ , Ionian."

With that, the woman shoved past the shorter man, vanishing up the stairs.

Lucian grumbled under his breath. "Great job, idiot," he snapped, pushing past Raksha as well, chasing after Leona. Raksha said nothing, staring numbly forward, as if just realizing what had just happened.

"You do realize what it is you just said," Fiora sighed. "That topic is a sensitive one."

"I…" Raksha trailed off.

"Should apologize after the festivities for the night," Fiora finished for him. "I doubt we will be seeing those two again tonight, and it would be useless to use the coms as well."

"Let's get moving," Yasuo hissed. "We have places to be."

The swordsman limped slightly as he walked to the stairs, quickly vanishing from sight.

"Come when you will, Yi," Fiora added, practically gliding as her cloak obscured her movement. Yi nodded halfheartedly as she passed, turning to follow her shortly afterward.

"I shouldn't have said that," Raksha muttered. Yi paused.

"You are nervous, on edge," Yi found himself saying calmly, resting a hand on Raksha's shoulder. "She will understand."

Raksha bit his lip, hesitating. After a long pause, he nodded slowly. "Hopefully," he muttered.

"She will."

Raksha took a deep breath, closing his eyes and freezing for a long while. When he finally opened his eyes again, he was smiling brightly once again. "Well, let's get going, shall we? You have a lot to see, my friend!"

They joined Fiora and Yasuo at the top of the stairs, in all their cloaked glory. Raksha donned his mask and led the way out the door. They made their way down a few blocks and eventually boarded a shuttle. There were already dozens of people on the large train, and Yi hesitated. The people here weren't supposed to accept PROJECTs, according to what he had seen in the notebook Raksha had. There had been a long fight for equality between the fully bionic and fully organics, and the PROJECTs walked a thin line between them. The people on the shuttle, however, were a mess of laughter behind the large masks each person wore. Red and white were the colors of the night, and no one gave the cloaked group a second glance.

The ride itself was mostly uneventful. A highly perceptive civilian had realized who Raksha was, and the mage ended up being swarmed. He seemed to be somewhat of a celebrity. He bowed respectfully at the people who greeted him, and the group held a comfortable small talk with various passengers. Yasuo leaned against the shuttle wall alongside Yi, watching the city fly by in the window, clearly wishing he was not in the crowd. When the shuttle finally slowed to a halt, Raksha happily excused himself from the conversation he was having (a young boy, no older than eight, had asked how the twin dragon mantle was floating) to lead the small group onto the platform.

"There you are!"

Yi started at the voice, locking onto its owner quickly; a small woman with a single horned mask and long red dress.

"Raka!" Raksha laughed, "What on Runeterra are you wearing?"

"I will have you know this is a traditional Ionian dancer outfit. In ancient times, it was an honor to wear one of these to the Lunar Revel," Soraka replied, flaunting the dress's floor-length sleeves and intricate patterns.

"We should proceed to the festivities. If we are to sightsee at all, we need to be going," Fiora chimed in. "We will be late otherwise."

"Alright then, I will see you all in a while," Raksha said, "I need to be there before the others. Appearances, and all."

Soraka giggled, somehow making the action elegant. "Alright, go ahead and do your politics. I will show our new friend around."

Raksha gave a half bow and vanished into the bustling crowd, Yasuo and Fiora close behind him.

"Stay close, if you know what is good for you," Soraka looped an arm around Yi's elbow. "We do not want to get separated in the crowds. I am afraid you would be helplessly lost in but a moment."

Yi grimaced, and was thankful the masks hid his maybe-face. If not the masks, then his helmet would have done the same. One way or another, Soraka didn't seem to notice, which was a good thing.

Soraka led him easily through the crowd of people leaving the shuttle station, and soon enough they were on one of the main streets. They were on a tall stairway in the middle of what had to be a main square, and the view was amazing.

The city on the way to the bookstore had been mostly bland, backstreets with very little life, but this was totally different. The skyscrapers were decorated with strings of paper lanterns, arcing across the streets like a misshapen ceiling. Masked people in red and white moved like water, currents forming next to one another in the center of the streets. Children ran around with sparklers and toy dragons, stalls lined every sidewalk selling foods and souvenirs of all kinds. Small bubbles formed around musical troupes, filling the air with bright festival music. In the center of the square was a large metal tree with what seemed to be a built in staircase around the trunk. Small pieces of paper lined each branch, and people could be seen tying them there. Dozens more stood in line, waiting their turn to reach the large metal branches.

"That is the Great Tree, or the replacement for it," Soraka explained over the hum of the crowd. "People write their worries down and give them to the tree, and at the end of the celebration, they are released in fire. Leftovers from old Ionia." She looked at him, though he could not tell her expression due to the mask. "Do you want to write one?"

Yi paused, simply taking in the scene. Finally, he nodded. "I would."

"Let us go, then," the smile was audible in her tone.

They made their way through the crowd rather easily, for how dense it was, claiming a pair of scrolls at the fence line around the tree. Here, Soraka left Yi, claiming that hanging a woe was a private affair, and should not be pried into. Yi stared at the blank scroll in his hand, allowing himself to be lost in thought. What were his worries? What was most pressing on his mind?

 _Which one am I?_

 _Who am I?_

 _Who was he?_

Yi swallowed, taking in the words he had written. He frowned. They were not the normal writing that he would see around now, but a series of strange symbols. Perhaps it was some ancient text buried in his memory? He read the questions again.

 _Which one am I?_

 _Who am I?_

 _Who was he?_

He could still understand them all, despite their strange shape.

Now it was time to hang the scroll. He scanned the tree for a spot to hang it, and his eyes settled on a low branch just above head height. Carefully pushing his way to the branch, he tried to ignore the nagging familiarity of the whole thing.

 _The lanterns filtered through the tree branches, barely visible. The scrolls; no more than a thin block of parchment on a string, fluttered like leaves in the breeze from the branches of the tree. He tied his to the branch, quietly saying a short prayer. He was not very religious, but it would still be worthwhile to appease any higher power that may exist. Behind him, his young student stepped forward to do the same. Young was a poor word to describe the tall creature, but it was the best he could do. His student turned to him curiously, opening his mouth to say something…_

"Are you well?"

Yi blinked the haze of the memory away when the hand touched his shoulder. He turned to find Soraka there, head tilted as if to show worry. "Yes," Yi replied softly. "I am fine."

"That is good," Soraka laughed, "We do have a lot to see in a rather short time!"

Yi nodded, imagining the smile that lay behind her mask. "Let's go see it then," he chuckled.

As Soraka led him away from the tree, he did not look back.

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* * *

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Raksha made his way through the crowd easily; most everyone moved out of his way as he walked. The curse of the Mantle struck again. This festival had turned into a masquerade, but anyone who knew anything could tell who he was because of the twin dragons floating behind him.

The mage allowed himself to enjoy the various aromas that drifted through the air; Yasuo would watch behind him, and Fiora in front. He caught a glimpse of the swordswoman's red robes ducking through the crowd a few paces ahead of him. He breathed deeply, taking in the scents of cinnamon, syrup, and various roasted foods that mixed in the cooling air. Street musicians played traditional tunes on old Ionian stringed harps, flutes, and small drums. Down various side streets, performance troupes had set up makeshift stages to reenact various ancient legends; today would be variations on Reina's story. He avoided those areas like the plague; the Legend of Rena's Demon was one of the things that had been changed too much for his taste.

Raksha stopped at a small food stall, buying a trio of small snacks: Takyami; a thick sandwich of sweetbread and a cinnamon paste specifically shaped like a fish, a small bag of Pak Chips which were really more bread crumbs with spices mixed in than they were chips, and a Crempe; a thin breading filled with a mystery filling. He liked mystery Crempes, you could never tell what were in them. Tucking the Pak Chips on his belt, Raksha was happy to find out the Crempe he had received was filled with a sugary vanilla mixture—a desert Crempe. Continuing on his way, he ignored the small rush of people to the food stall he had just left. Being well known was a hassle like that.

"Are you sure you need those?" Fiora asked over the com link in his ear.

"Of course," Raksha protested through a mouthful of Takyami. "When a food stall knows how to keep tradition alive, you gotta respect them!"

Fiora's scoff seemed halfhearted. "Whatever you choose, Raksha. Just hurry up."

"We have time, I can eat," Raksha pouted unashamedly behind his Takyami, mask pushed slightly up on his face so he could consume the snacks.

"Still, eat quickly," Fiora replied. She wasn't being as fierce as normal. Something to do with the atmosphere.

Raksha continued on his way, heading for the center of the city as slowly as he could. He paused to toss coins in the basket of a lone flutist, to cheer at a raised platform where a fire eater spun their flames, to watch a puppet show variation of the Reina legend in a crowd of children.

The mage really didn't want to get to his destination. He would have to sit through a bunch of historical speeches that he'd heard ten thousand times before, all about how the 'great New Zaun' kept the people 'safe' after the shattering. He would have to stand by, an image of old Ionia backing up the Creator's words as he spoke about crushing rebellions and picturing the perfection that was the world. Every year, he had to hear the same thing, and every year, Raksha dreaded this night. This year was special, though, as he had received his invitation in person from the Creator himself. Thinking back on that meeting made Raksha's stomach twist, and he had to put away the last of his Pak Chips with a frown.

What exactly did the Creator want with the PROJECTS Raksha was supposed to bring along? He had been asked to bring a few, something about this Creation Day—as the Creator so elegantly called it—being about PROJECT equality or something. Or, it could all be a trap. Raksha did not like that idea. This Gala was normally just routine; go in, listen to a speech, be on good behavior, don't do something you'd regret later, go home, sleep, wake up the next morning to (hopefully) not find yourself in the headlines. Simple and to the point, something Raksha could do without hesitation. This year, however, the whole thing had an air of unease about it. Something was going to happen this time, but would it be for better or worse? There was no real way to tell.

No matter how slowly he walked, however, he eventually ended at his destination. The tall central tower that housed the Creator. The lower floor housed a large auditorium, and a massive line of people waited to enter, eagerly wanting to be a part of the festivities. Raksha sighed, making his way along the edge of the courtyard toward the VIP entrance.

"I'm going in now, guys," he muttered into his helmcom. "I don't fucking like it, but…"

"You never like it," Fiora countered. Yasuo's dry laugh was cut off as the woman kept talking. "We're out here if you need us. Be careful, it looks like there's more security this time."

Raksha nodded, even though they couldn't see him. Taking a breath, he centered on _Phyla_ and started to the door.

The plan was rather simple, all things considered. Raksha would go in, like normal, and see what was expected of him. If he needed Fiora or Yasuo to join him, he would call them and simply claim that they were late due to issues at the door and gaining entrance to the gala. If he did not need to endanger them by bringing them into this whole scenario, he would not make them join him. Clearly, the second option was better.

There seemed to be some kind of commotion at the VIP entrance, so he hung back to watch. It seemed the guards were trying to keep a persistent guest from getting in, likely someone who thought this was another general entrance. The guest themselves was short, standing barely to the chest of the guard who held them back. Judging by the large wrapped bow on the back of the guest's robes, it was a female, but that was the only defining feature. The shaved hair on the sides of her head leading to the almost plume in the center was a very boyish cut, and their upper face was obscured by another Reina mask. The pure white hair gave Raksha pause, and he momentarily wondered if this person was a PROJECT. That couldn't be, though; most PROJECTS had some kind of threatening build, mostly due to the scientists who crafted them wanting their PROJECT to be seen as the strongest. Even though that was the case, Sona's creator had seemingly liked a sleeker appearance, so he couldn't rule out the possibility that this was a PROJECT. Frowning, Raksha continued, keeping an eye on the strange woman.

She _flickered_.

It was momentary, but as Raksha removed his mask and approached a guard to enter the building, the strange woman flickered. Blinking, Raksha froze as the woman latched onto his arm, grasping tightly to his elbow.

"Raksha! Took you long enough!" the woman exclaimed, as if they were old friends. She was young, Raksha estimated sixteen even though she carried herself in a far more mature way. "I've been trying to explain that I'm with you, but these _brutes_ don't believe me!"

"I don't think-" Raksha was cut off as the woman's nails dug into his arm. She smiled up at him with a wide smile.

"Convince them for me, _darling_?"

It was not a question.

"I don't think they quite understand, _honey_ ," Raksha ground out, trying to seem natural. He smiled at the guard in front of him. "Each guest of honor is allowed one guest to sit alongside them, correct?"

"Y-yes sir," the guard stuttered.

"Then you will not deny me mine?" Raksha asked, sending what he hoped was a casual glance at the person on his arm.

"Of- of course not, sir!" the guard fidgeted with the holoboard he held in his hands, probably a guest list. "It's just… you never assigned a guest for the list and-"

"Well then it was _clearly_ a mistake on your list maker's part, my friend," Raksha managed to fall into the sickly sweet manipulating tone he always heard other politicians use. Being one of the only true Ionian bloodlines left made one relatively famous, and as much as he hated it, manipulating people with one's fame was something that had to be done sometimes. "We wouldn't want such a _drastic_ mistake made public, now would we?"

That shut the guard up. With numerous bows and swift apologies, he added the woman's name—Eden—to the list and let them pass without any further protests. Once through the door, Eden hung on his elbow longer, the duo making their way slowly through the crowd toward the auditorium.

"Well done, _sweetums_ ," Eden said under her—their—breath. "Very well done, seems the thir-"

"Who are you?" Raksha asked softly, keeping sure to face forward the whole time.

"It's rude to interrupt, Raky," Eden chuckled, "We would like to remain anonymous for now, but don't worry, we won't hurt you."

"We?"

"My… associates… and I have been watching your work for a long, _long_ time now, and we quite like what we've seen," Eden ignored the glances and whispers of the crowd as she pulled him into the stairway to the upper balcony box where they would watch the whole speech and performance. It was the same box every year; one where the whole auditorium could see Raksha give his support to the creature known as the Creator. Eden spoke a bit louder here, as there was no one to overhear. "Your work, how do I say this? Your work inspires us. If tonight goes well, I do believe you shall meet my… partners."

"I would be," Raksha paused, considering the words carefully. He knew nothing of these people, and with Eden here listening, he couldn't so much as ask Fiora or Yasuo to do anything about it. "Honored to meet them," he finished carefully.

"Good," Eden smiled, drawing him to sit next to her (him? Raksha was still unsure) with a gentle pull. She smoothed her long red sleeves across her lap and turned her full attention to the stage below. Raksha gave his masked companion one final glance before doing the same.

This year's Gala was definitely going to be… unique.

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 **A/N: There you go guys! My pathetically late chapter! A mix of midterms, sick days, and trying to sort out particular difficult plot points have led to... well, to lateness. Aslo, a Blade and Soul leveling event happening this month distracted me, but now that I'm done with that (in 9 days no less! :O I have nothing better to do with my spring break, it seems) I can return to League with much happiness.**

 **On another hand, I hope the dear guest reviewer PROJECT RONIN from _PROJECT: Echoes_ found his way here all well. I know you wanted a sequel, Ronin, so say hello to the sequel, unless (of course) you're stuck back on Echoes, in which case, I'll cry a bit. **

**Back to the chapter, this one has a lot more concrete details that had to be figured out than past ones, as a lot of what you see here will probably come back in some way later. The first bit of this chapter alone took me two weeks to iron out, between homework and work and whatnot, so I hope y'all appreciate this. :(**

 **Just to clarify, the foods Raksha eats here are based off Taiyaki (a Japanese street food shaped like a fish), Crepes (a traditionally French wrapped snack food with a variety of types), and a variation on the sizzle-crisps from Avatar the Last Airbender. Totally not renamed to make them feel a bit more like League sorts of foods. (What sort of food do they even EAT on Runeterra? Besides Oranges and Mangos, that is *glares at Illa and Gangplank.**

 **Our second mystery character has arrived, guys! First was the mysterious SHADOW from last chapter and now it's the strange Eden. Who could she (or he?) be? Bonus points and/or a shoutout to the Reviewer who guesses right! (There are plenty of hints to get this one, guys, not gonna lie, when you know it'll be a facepalm moment if you don't get it now.)**

 **Are you all happy with this pacing, or do you want it to get a bit faster? Anything I can do to make this story flow better for you guys as readers, or am I doing alright? We're on Part 5 now, so I'd like to request a pacing check. Lol. Let me know if I can be doing anything better, alright guys?**

 **Thanks a bunch for reading, as usual. I'll see you next chapter!**


	6. History

**A/N: I'm going to say this here, only because it's too important to wait to the end.**

 **Sorry I missed last month's update, and that this chapter is so short. I got hit hard by finals, graduation, and illness, and I'm only now catching a break.**

 **Huge thank you to anyone who has chosen to follow, and who will still choose to follow after I missed a whole update. ;A;**

 **Also, at some point we passed 20 reviews and I forgot to shout it out, so yay... 22 review HYPE... I guess.**

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 **No major warnings for this chapter. Just a bit of cursing, as is the usual at this point. I'll stop putting that warning here now.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **Part Six:**

 **History**

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 **Or: Of Speeches and Strangers**

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There was a gentle round of applause as the Lights in the auditorium dimmed, spotlights lighting up the empty stage. Silence fell, and Raksha could feel the anticipation in the air.

A holoscreen, much like the one in the basement of his house, flickered on across the back of the stage, fizzling once or twice before settling on the large, red and black skull of the VBCC; the emblem of New Zaun. Raksha held back a frown. The holoscreen shivered as a figure melted out of it. Tall and imposing, even from far above him, the Creator stood proudly, his hollow red eyes scanning the crowd and black coat trailing just above the ground. Cheers went up for him, but Raksha stayed silent. He couldn't help but notice Eden's silence as well.

The Creator raised a hand slightly, no more than a slight motion, and silence consumed the room again, allowing his two tone metallic voice to ring around the auditorium.

"Welcome, esteemed guests," the Creator awaited a response, but no one would be stupid enough to speak in his silence. "We gather together to remember our past, to honor those who came before, and to look forward to the future. We know what it is to be a broken people, and we have ascended farther than any previous societies could have ever dreamed. Centuries ago, we were a mix of left over survivors; the strongest to survive the Shattering. Then, we became innovators. We survived the Great War, developed the Light Shield and surrounded the city with its protection. We created the Battlecast Defense Program to defend our fair city. We have come far in the past decades.

"Ten years ago, I stood upon this stage and announced the creation of the first living machine. The first fully mechanical human, a living assistant to those in need. Since then, our scientists have worked day and night on creating the perfect mix between immortal and human, to revolutionize the continued existence of our race. Today," the Creator spread his arms wide, gesturing to the whole crowd, "We celebrate their success!"

Twin lights appeared on the edges of the stage, shining light onto the beings that emerged there. Raksha sat forward, clenching the edges of his chair tightly. Eden's gaze burned into his neck. SHADOWs emerged on the stage. Zed, one of the first, walked onto stage right, standing proudly beside the Creator. The short female from earlier was to the Creator's left, standing at only about two thirds Zed's height. Then, four more SHADOWs joined the three. Raksha quickly committed every detail of the red and black armored people to memory.

On the far stage right—behind Zed—stood a large man of crude creation, clearly an experimental design. Exposed green tubes and wiring peeked through his heavy armor, yet he seemed unafraid of the exposed weaknesses. He was beefy, and while no weapons were with him, he was clearly a force to be reckoned with. Between that man and Zed stood a slightly shorter man with an extremely exaggerated armor. All spikes, bright blue glows, and posturing, his entire being seemed to scream for attention. Even though he was not the one at center stage, he stood like it, posing as if to catch the light in a specific way. Both SHADOWs faces were completely obscured, though the latter was in a far neater fashion, the spikes forming an almost-crown around his head.

Behind the short female stood a tall, thin SHADOW in hyper aerodynamic armor. It was difficult to tell if it was a female or male model, but the soft edges and slight curves to the design gave a subtle pointing toward female, and Raksha thought of it as such. She stood proudly, glowing a gentle purple, face obscured by a mask not unlike Sona's. Raksha wondered if they had the same maker. The only thing that broke the smoothness of the SHADOW's design was a pointed U shape on the model's forehead. The final SHADOW was a tiny one, and Raksha realized it was a Yordle. It had large, angular protrusions out of its head, like a Yordle's ears, and a massive mane of the white PROJECT hair. It was bouncing from one foot to the other, happily staring about, and Raksha noted it was made with the same sort of flexible metal face as Fiora, allowing for a range of expressions not seen in many PROJECTs before. The actions combined with the pastel pink shade of its lighting made Raksha immediately think of Lilleth or another little girl.

"An impressive display," Eden muttered next to him. Raksha pointedly ignored the comment, turning his attention back to the Creator.

"These things we have created will usher in a new era of peace and prosperity among PROJECTs and humans alike. With the support given by the house Kismat," the Creator motioned to Raksha's booth, and Raksha was suddenly aware of how many people were in the building. "We have been moving toward a world of equality and acceptance. Today, I am proud to say we have accomplished just that.

"In the coming weeks, we will be searching out all existing PROJECTs, and shall undergo a simple registration. With this registration, these half humans will become a part of our fair society. Stepping forward to be registered will be a sign of peace, a surrender of threats, and a promise to serve our city as any other citizen has.

"I have a vision, one of prosperity and coordination, of peace and progress. Trust in me, my people, as I lead us through this new revolution!" the Creator lifted his fist high, and a cheer raced through the crowd.

"An interesting development," Eden muttered. Raksha could barely hear the person over the cheering. "I will return momentarily, I have to make a call."

With that, Eden left the booth, and the SHADOWs below walked offstage, the creator giving one final bow before following. Something else began on stage, likely a Reina play, but Raksha let it all fade away, glancing back at where Eden had gone. When Eden had last spoke, their voice was anything but feminine. The lights dimmed, shading the room and leaving only the actors on stage in light, and Raksha stood to follow his companion.

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Soraka seemed to be enjoying the festival. Even through her mask, Yi could tell the woman was positively beaming with joy. She had pulled back her mask in order to enjoy some of the traditional foods that were sold at the street stalls, and there was a skip in her step that he had never seen before.

Then again, he had never really seen anything before a week or so ago.

Yi found he could not join in Soraka's merriment. Everything about the festival rubbed him the wrong way. It was all so familiar, yet it was all so new. The conflict was strange. He could look at the children running in their red dresses and white masks and see something totally different.

 _The children laughed at the wooden puppets as they danced, bobbing up and down as the master puppeteer retold the story with brilliant spins… instead of a demon, it was a Noxian, and Reina was not a helpless woman turned warrior, but a Demacian seeking justice, chided by her Ionian mentor spirits…_

Yi shook the memory off, refocusing on Soraka in front of him. She turned, noticing his pause over the puppet show.

"Are you alright?" She asked worriedly. "We can go home if you would like."

"No," Yi said quickly. She jolted, and he realized he had startled her. "No," he repeated, calmer this time. "I would like to stay, to see the rest of this place."

Soraka studied him for a moment before nodding with a smile. "Alright, then let us go see a dance!" she fiddled with a folded paper in her hands. "There should be one in the central park up ahead. Dances were one of the most important parts of Ionian festivities! Some would last full days and need six shifts of dancers to finish properly! Can you imagine that? Six dance troupes working together! It was amazing!"

Yi would have smiled then, if he could with his mechanical face. It hit him then that he couldn't smile. He couldn't really show emotion at all with the blank slate of dark metal that was his helmet-face. Smiling, frowning, it was all the same, and he wondered if the sensations even meant anything, if they were ever translated to his exterior.

Soraka babbled on about Ionian dances, music, festivals. She had been going on like this since they left the tree in the central square. She was passionate about ancient Ionia, for whatever reason. Perhaps because of all the PROJECTs that had originated there? Maybe her bloodline had come from Ionian as well. Perhaps it was simply her love of books.

"What was it like?" Yi asked.

"What was what like?" Soraka replied, taking the question in stride.

"Ionia. Back when…" Yi trailed off.

"Ah," Soraka seemed to suddenly understand. "Well, it was a beautiful place. Tranquil and known for its tall mountains and steep waterfalls—"

 _The greenery spread for miles, finely crafted buildings perched atop precarious arcs of stone, long banners displaying house colors dangling in the wind. There was a radiance to the place, caused by the waterfall mists and the gentle sunlight filtering through the clouds. An eternal flame burned at the entrance to every temple, surrounded by a bowl of water and shaded by a tree. A cycle of balance, peace, prosperity. Shapes in flowing robes moved about the landscape like phantoms, moving as elegantly as the landscape. Music drifted on the breeze, and Yi turned to his companion, motioning to the path behind them. A hand rested on his arm, and…_

The memory faded away, and Soraka was there in front of him again, concern on her face. They stood in silence, until Yi nodded slightly.

"You see it, don't you?" She asked softly.

"Yes," he muttered. "It really was beautiful."

Soraka smiled. "It was." Her grip on his arm tightened for a moment before she let go, turning to the park entrance. "Well, here we are! The dances are about to start, it seems. Glad we are not late."

Yi nodded, silently following Soraka forward. He grasped at the image of Ionia, but found that it vanished like mist when he reached for it. The feeling of calm that it brought remained, however, and Yi looked around the park clearing with a feeling of contentment.

There was a large crowd gathered here, all around a slightly raised wooden stage. A collection of musicians occupied one corner, keeping with the red robes and white masks. Soraka led them to the entrance of the platform.

"Soraka!" A dancer called out. Soraka waved to her with a smile.

"You do not have to dance," Soraka said with a grin. "Since I help to teach the dancers, I join them for at least one dance, however. I hope you do not mind."

"Go ahead," Yi replied. He was content to watch. Soraka smiled and practically skipped off to join the assembling dancers.

Yi took a moment to admire the people. They were gathered with such energy and excitement that it nearly radiated off them. The lanterns that lined the trees seemed to shimmer with it, and it tingled down his spine. There were a few men managing spotlights of sorts in platforms in the trees, and the main lights suddenly went dark, the crowd fell silent, and a light harp note rang out.

A thin, flowing figure flowed from the back of the stage, pausing as the music did. A flute joined the harp, the two calling back and forth like waves, and the figure following the movements. Soon enough, a strange string instrument joined, and chimes, and a second flute, until the whole band was playing the soft tune. The figure flowed from side to side, her sleeves obscuring her form, blurring it into red waves, her white horned mask showing through occasionally.

It was Soraka.

Soraka danced like the tide, a gentle flow, an elegant spin, an occasional bow or rise. Other dancers joined her, following her movements perfectly through the heart of the song. She spun and flowed and…

 _…_ _and glimmered in the nighttime, her purple skin and white robes glowing with the golden magic that she wove through the night, the Ethwal music leading her steps. Yi smiled, admiring the movements of the dance and music along with the rest of the crowd. The people were completely under the dancers' spell._

All too soon, the song was over, the dancers displaying their masks, framed by the red of their floor-length sleeves. They bowed, and flowed like ghosts to their next positions. Yi hardly had time to shake off the memory before a light drumbeat started the next dance, and the flow began again.

This time, they danced like the earth; sharp, strong motions, and measured turns. They wove together and broke apart, bending like trees in the wind and snapping back upright to their sturdy holds. Yi was mesmerized, but who wasn't at this point? Soraka faded into the background, and a dancer with green and gold embroidery took the lead, fans springing from her sleeves. She moved like a fighter, gliding easily across the smooth stage, mask ferocious in the night. Her motions were round, balanced, and…

 _…_ _and focused the inner mana. The patterns of a warrior preparing for battle, grounding oneself before a fight, preparing to stand and defend._

Yi clutched his head. The song had changed, he had missed the bow.

Ferocious, the dancers spun and twirled, in full contrast with the previous dance. They were…

 _…_ _in the heat of battle, flowing like the wind and avoiding any dangers that came their way. Their fans cut through the air with deadly accuracy, flourishing rarely, wasting no energy._

The dancers came together and split apart…

 _…_ _just like warriors…_

…springing into the air like small tornadoes of red and white…

 _…_ _demons, spells, magic through the air…._

The tempo sped up, and suddenly there was…

 _…_ _fire. The fans flickered with it…_

…red ribbons spinning around them, smiles on every face. The children clapped along with the music…

 _…_ _like blades clashing on the battlefield. Smoke filled the air…_

…reflecting the spotlights, making patterns that raged around the dancers, the gold in their outfits shimmering and bright.

Yi clutched his head and stumbled back, the memories overwhelming.

Yes, that was right. They were only memories. Just memories, recollections of an earlier time.

 _When fire lapped at his feet, swords clashed, spells flew, his energy raged in his ears, echoing throughout his being… urging him to go, to go faster…_

He shook his head, pushing through the crowd. The music pounded in his head, he had to get away from it. It was too much, too painful, he had to…

 _…_ _He had to save them, he had to get to his village, they were killing it! They would destroy it before he got there, he was too late. He had to go faster. There was no other option. He had to…_

…to clear his head. He had to get help. He had to call for Fiora or Lucian or Leona or someone, he had to get these memories out of his head.

The song behind him picked up, the beats chasing him, the dancers twirled, spun in wonderful swarms of red and gold and white and…

 _…_ _and he had to stop it, and he had to save them, and…_

…and it was too much. He collapsed to his knees, hands on his head, trying to block out the sound, but the sound came from inside of him, the echoing radiated through him. He couldn't stop it. Orange laced his vision, his very being vibrated, his bones rattled, his body shook, he yelled out—these people had to get away from him, it wasn't safe—he cried out, holding it back, pain spiking through him. They had to get away. They had to stay back, he would be too fast, it was too fast, he couldn't stop it.

Orange consumed his vision, he cried out in pain, frustration, worry… he couldn't let the people die, he couldn't hurt them. The masks all around him, he couldn't…

 _…_ _he had to save them, he had to go faster, to save his people, to keep them alive, to hold onto their memory, to…_

There was a moment of perfect clarity as his hand tightened around his blade. His masks had vanished, his armor laced in orange. The music had stopped, the people formed a wide circle around him, a small crater held him. He shuddered. These people would not hurt him. They were here to watch the dancers.

He glanced up at the platform, where the dancers gathered, fear no doubt behind those brilliant white masks. Soraka was there, her single horn standing out. Yi forced his hand to let go of his blade. He didn't need it here. These people would not hurt him.

A single red light hovered in his vision, blinking with the pulses in his mind. Before the blade had reached the ground, he was collapsing. His vision laced with orange and red, the last thing he saw was Soraka racing toward him, throwing away her mask.

He could have sworn she still had the single horn on her head as the world faded to black.

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* * *

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"They say he helped with this event. Propoganda, I think." Eden fell silent, listening. "A registration for the P's… Yeah, unexpected is an understatement… You don't say."

Raksha wondered what was on the other end of the call, holding his breath in the silences. Eden sighed.

"I'm never doing this again… you can't make me, Piltie." Eden laughed. "Sure, while you two get to romp around in your su- hold on." His—her? Raksha still couldn't stick a pronoun to Eden—attention shot up, dangerously close to where Raksha had been peeking around the corner. Eden's hand moved toward a sleeve, and Raksha didn't wait to see what would come of it.

Raksha ran, boosting his speed with a quick Sungi mantra, darting around a few corners in swift succession. He pressed himself in a small alcove, slinking into the shadows. There was a beat of silence, and then Eden was there, looking very different than before. Their eyes were feral and the air around them crackled with a fierce energy. They growled, spinning around, searching. Their eyes skipped right over the alcove.

Eden flickered.

Just like before, outside of the theatre. It was faint, sudden, and gone in a heartbeat. They growled in frustration, reached into a sleeve, and flickered again. Raksha thought he imagined it for a moment, but then it happened once more. Then again, and again. He began a silent count in his head. Seven, twelve, fifteen, twenty, thirty. Finally, Eden grumbled, sighed, and turned back to the mobile com in their hand.

"I'll call you back."

Then, it seemed the hunt was over, and Eden proceeded to leave. Raksha waited until the first people filtered from the theatre to slip out of his hiding spot, not willing to risk Eden spotting him. He easily joined the line of guests heading to where the actual gala would be held.

The river of people divided in two; the general audience being pushed out the doors to the left, and the rich, important members being admitted to the right. A hand wrapped around his arm, and suddenly Eden was there, falling in step.

"A long call," Raksha breathed.

"You were not at the box when I returned," Eden replied. There was a hint of suspicion in her tone.

"I went to relieve myself before the crowd could emerge, I figured we would not wish to wait before entering the gala," Raksha retorted, nodding to the security as they passed. The ballroom was only a short walk away, up an elevator and across a glass walkway that provided a perfect view of the streets below.

"That seems like a rather long bathroom break," Eden snickered into a sleeve. The same sleeve she—he? Raksha would never get the answer—had reached for earlier. Raksha wondered what was up it. He had not seen the stranger's hands at all. He chose to shrug at the comment itself, unable to come up with a reply.

"You mentioned associates," he said calmly, easily swapping to a different topic. "When shall I be meeting them?"

"Why, whenever you wish, darling," Eden replied. "They were not going to request your attention until later, but it appears that our schedule may be… advancing slightly."

Raksha hummed in consideration. It was an etiquette hum, really, just to show he had heard. He was really watching for guards.

"It would be beneficial for you to see and be seen for a while. I will vanish here, and return to get you when it is time to leave."

There was no chance to reply, as Eden's hand slipped from his arm and their small figure vanished into the crowd. Raksha stood for a moment, glancing after her before sighing. He straightened, put on his practiced smile, and made his way into the ballroom to be… ugh… social.

Events like these were nothing but publicity. Times for pictures to be captured, the magical images broadcast throughout the holo-screens of the city the next day, telling who was there and who was not, who came with who, unimportant shit like that. Raksha would much rather be at home researching the new SHADOWS that had been shown today, or out on the streets enjoying the festivities, but he was the last Royal Ionian bloodline on the mainland, so he _had_ to be present. Besides, the Kismat family had worked _closely_ with the Creator to plan this whole thing, after all. It just would _not_ do to have such an important player be absent from the gala.

He choked back a string of curses, centering on _Phyla_. He would need the peace the mantra would bring to get him through the night.

It was several hours, dozens of fake drinks, hundreds of handshakes, and one too many toasts later when Eden finally returned in all their androgynous glory. No more than a slight tug on his elbow, and Raksha had ditched his drink (still the first one of the night, one learned to hide these things after enough events) and was following Eden's small form through the crowd. He was stopped once or twice, but found Eden was always just in vision, white mask bobbing through the crowd, always seeming to face Raksha. Eden led him to a back door, and after checking the room once, Raksha ducked out it. There was a small hallway, dim orange lights leading his way down a series of stairs.

It occurred to him that Yasuo and Fiora were still waiting for him to check in. He quickly turned on his com, breathing a message to the two.

"Investigating something, going dark for a while. Track if needed, but do not follow. I'll call you," Raksha clicked the com off and tucked it away. There was only one exit to the stairwell; a thin metal doorway. Raksha carefully opened the door, finding himself in the kitchens. Servers wandered back and forth, carrying trays and supplies. A tug on his sleeve turned him left, behind a cabinet. Eden held a finger over their mask's lips, pointing to a small door behind them. Raksha followed carefully, hopefully unseen. This door led to a small access tunnel, and another door through there led to the outside; a back alley. Raksha stepped out into the chilling night air, glancing around for his guide. Eden was not in sight. He cursed, wandering forward a bit more. Perhaps the person had gone around the corner and was waiting for him?

He had taken less than two steps when the door to the alley slammed closed, and Raksha spun around, a _Jia_ bolt ready in his hand. He was slow, and something sharp pricked into his neck. He clutched the wound, pulling back a dart. Eden stepped away from the door, head cocked.

It was a setup, of _course_ it was. Fuck.

Raksha's vision blurred, his knees trembled, and he began to fall forward, but not before he could raise a hand to flip the other person off.

"Fuck you," Raksha managed as Eden caught him. Eden chuckled.

"Fuck you too, sweetums," Eden responded. Raksha's world spiraled to black.

.

* * *

.

 _The night was cold, the air sending chills down his spine. He walked swiftly, but was mindful to not leave his student behind. The youth jogged behind him, attempting to keep up with his long strides._

 _"_ _Is it really okay to leave the festival in the middle like this? Shouldn't we at least stay until they burn the wishes from the tree?"_

 _"_ _It is best to not fight the crowds, my student. The easiest path is often the best to follow."_

 _"_ _That doesn't sound right…"_

 _"_ _Doubt is the greatest enemy of an avid student."_

 _"_ _Now I know you're messing with me, that's not how that one ends, and you know it."_

 _"_ _Perhaps I simply never told you the end."_

 _"_ _I don't—um… huh."_

 _"_ _Now, keep up."_

 _"_ _Yes, master."_

 _He stopped on the ridge, turning back to the city they were leaving behind. It was an elegant place, all tall spires and red-roofed buildings, but it was nothing like his home._

 _Home…_

 _He clutched the strap of his pack tightly. It had been so long since he last was home. It felt like forever._

 _"_ _Master?"_

 _"_ _Hm?"_

 _"_ _Are you alright?"_

 _"_ _Yes. Come, let us go."_

The scene dissolved, and Yi was left in darkness.

.

* * *

.

Pain.

Oh, the _pain_.

Raksha groaned, hand shooting to his head as the headache split is skull. He tried opening his eyes, but the field of white there only caused more pain as it spun in his vision. A figure hovered above him, fading in and out of color.

"He's up," someone said. It was like hearing through water.

Someone took his arm, and there was a pinch there. A pause, and then pure liquid fire shot through his veins.

It was warm, and it hurt, but it woke him up, and that was good.

It didn't stop him from yelping in shock, though.

Someone chuckled at his reaction. "Don't worry, it feels like that all the time. You never get used to it."

The voice was familiar, and it all came back. Eden, the alley, the dart, the…

"You mother fucker!" Raksha exclaimed, sitting up and blinking his vision clear. He looked around frantically for Eden. "Son of a bitch, you drugged me!"

Eden broke into a loud, barking laugh.

"Holy shit, I love this guy!"

"God, don't get used to it," a second voice.

"He's a lot different than I expected, honestly. Almost as stuck up as you at the gala, Piltie."

"I am not stuck up, at least not at parties," a third voice.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm no—"

"No, you really are."

Raksha blinked his vision free, and examined the situation. He was unbound, on some kind of bed or couch or something. That was good news. They seemed to be in some kind of sterile white lab space, though it was cluttered with so much machinery and so many holo-pads that he wondered how anything got done. Eden lounged in a chair by his feet, mask removed to show dark brown skin and a boyish face.

Another person, presumably the one who administered the liquid fire, sat beside Raksha. This one was the third voice; a tall man in a pristine suit with slightly greying hair and a raw muscle mass unlike anything Raksha had ever seen before.

The second voice belonged to the third person, who leaned against a counter across the lab. He was probably the middle height of the three, lean despite the bulky mechanical suit he wore. It looked like early generation PROJECT gear, except the person beneath seemed to be far more… human. All that was visible of his face was a blue visor and a flat line of a mouth beneath the golden explosion of hair on his head. A two-tone leather jacket hung over his shoulders and seemed horribly out of place.

Raksha took this all in, ignoring their banter. As soon as there was a pause, he took the chance to speak.

"What the ever loving fuck is going on?" the mage snapped.

The other three turned back to him, as if suddenly noticing Raksha was in the room.

"Why, sweetums," Eden cooed. He was clearly a man. A man in woman's clothing. "These are my associates."

The man nearest Raksha cleared his throat, cutting Eden off. He held out his hand, and Raksha took it hesitantly. "I am Jayce. The scoundrel over there is Ekko, and that is my friend Ezreal," Jayce motioned to each as he said their name. "Welcome to the lab of Project Pulsefire."

Raksha glanced between the three other men before folding his arms. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

.

.

.

* * *

 **A/N: So, I thought so much on the ending lines for this. First the flashback was going to end, then this then this wasn't even going to happen, but I really wanted to add more, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It'll all come next chapter. Don't worry.**

 **A quick shoutout to** _Soul 3_ **who did as I asked and literally pulled the story apart piece by piece and told me what was wrong with it. Sheesh, that must have been a lot of work. The guest reviewer** _Amber_ **called who Eden was, good job!**

 **For anyone interested, the song Soraka dances to first is Tidecaller from the League extra soundtrack... It kinda came on as I was writing and worked nicely, so I went with it. The other songs are just kinda... well, they aren't real songs. They just are. Deal with it.**

 **Secondly, for all of you who wanted Pulsefire Ezreal... Why on earth would I tag Ezreal in the story and NOT put him here? Come on, boys, have some logic!**

 **No one replied to the pacing request last chapter. *sad face* I AM trying to write this to practice PoV and pacing, so if anything seems wonky, be sure to let me know... or if things are going well, let me know. That works too. I love hearing from you guys... (and this isn't going against my promise to not ask for reviews... this is me asking you to properly critique my writin... oh who am I kidding? I'm a review whore. Lay them on me!)**

 **And the last and final note is the chapter challenge! Can anyone guess who the new SHADOWs are? Bet not! Here's a hint, _the two guys are based on existing, non-PROJECT skins, and the two females are based on the classic skin designs_. Have fun hunting down the answers!**

 **In any case, I'll see you later this month for this month's update. Thanks a ton for reading! Until next chapter!**


	7. Resolve

**A/N: Last time I was this late, I missed the meme party.**

 **More notes at the end.**

 **Enjoy for now.**

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **.**

 **Part Seven:**

 **Resolve**

 **.**

 **Or:**

 **Of Plans and Promises**

 **.**

* * *

.

The lab was silent for a moment, like the calm before a storm. Someone sighed reluctantly, cutting through the thickness of the air.

"I suppose we do have a lot of explaining to do," Jayce said with a smile.

Raksha frowned at the man's aloofness. Ezreal remained stoic, glaring at nothing with his arms crossed, and Ekko seemed intent on not meeting Raksha's gaze.

"The reason we're here spans a much longer time than you may realize at first," Jayce began speaking casually, leaning back in his chair. "The first thing to note is that we are indeed the original Champions of the League, not ancestors, not PROJECTs. We are the original Jayce, Ezreal, and Ekko from that time, though history may not remember some of us as well as others.

"You have, no doubt, heard the stories of Project Pulsefire from the great war. The stories are not all wrong. Back when the League still stood, Pulsefire didn't exist. It was a brain child of mine, just a prototype. After the collapse, things went a little crazy. Too crazy to explain, really. There were more players then than there are now, by far. Some ancient civilizations that you probably don't even know existed. We retreated to Piltover, the City of Progress, to do exactly that… to progress.

"Progress has a price, however, and we soon learned that. A few players in the collapse came back during the aftermath, trying to usher in an era of peace and heal the world, but they failed. We aimed to develop a technology much like the Summoners of the League used their magic for; something that would channel and enhance the skills and magic a person held to make them more powerful, more controllable, and more advanced than ever before. Project Pulsefire.

"We developed this program as an answer to the peoples' calls for help, for safety. It was initially a defense program that we made, hoping to keep Piltover secure in its neutrality. Alas, it was not to be, and we were soon dragged into the Great War. Ezreal was the first real Pulsefire fighter, and after the war started coming to an end, Ekko joined the team with his chronomancy. With his help, and a ton of magic mumbo-jumbo that he pulled, we managed to create Pulsefire systems that would keep their owners healthy for unknown amounts of time. We almost won the war, but… well, you know how that went.

"With the Battlecast Defense Program, Viktor; a previous Champion like ourselves, was able to match our power, but the real final blow came with the creation of the first PROJECT. Viktor stole some of our Pulsefire tech, merged it with his Battlecast plans and some magic I've never seen before, and the results speak for themselves. The first PROJECT, as you know very well, secured New Zaun as the overwhelming power on the mainland. With that PROJECT, Viktor obliterated his opposition. Piltover turned to rubble, Demacia and Noxus—the once proud city-states that ruled the mainland—vanished. Erased from history as quickly as Viktor rose.

"The next few years are well documented. Twisted, but well documented. Viktor vanished, replaced by this 'Creator' that the city worships. The cyborgs, remnants of the Battlecast Program, became full machines, police forces, workers, anything you can imagine. The PROJECTs became toys for the Creator and his scientists, and now he wants to control them.

"Now you want to fight for the PROJECTs; make them be seen as actual people instead of tools, give them a free will. That's all fine and all, but I think you need to be keyed into the big picture a bit here," Jayce grimaced, pulling a map up on his holoscreen. One central island, a line cutting straight through a mountain range, dividing the island into an upper and lower half. Three other, smaller islands were placed to the north east of the mainland, the first farther north than the second, and the third was indicated as existing somewhere off the map. Raksha recognized the mainland as Valoran, but the islands were unknown to him. Jayce seemed to anticipate the question on Raksha's tongue. "Ionia, Bilgewater, and the Shadow Isles. Erased from history, just as the old civilizations were, but not destroyed.

"You wonder how that is, don't you?" Jayce chuckled. "The Creator dictates what you see, hear, read, say, do, live. He's got this whole city under his thumb, and he won't be happy until he gets the island nations too.

"Bilgewater has long been the land of the free, ruled by pirates and perfectly able to defend itself. The area to the south of Valoran; where the great sand emperor rose so long ago, that area is basically untouchable. Azir's armies are too powerful, but he also does not care to assist us. The Shadow Isles are a cursed place; the cause of the Harrowing those big shield generators keep out of the city. Ionia, however, is a peaceful island. No one really knows what happened to the island… well…"

"Everyone but us," Ekko finished. Jayce shot a glare at him, but the youth shrugged it off. "Look, Ionia is what the Creator wants. He wants to mess them over something fierce, so we gotta get to them first. Make sense?" He threw his legs over the side of his chair, lounging back lazily and staring at something on a small holopad. "Not to mention Ionia has the best recollection of magic and the histories of the world anyone has ever seen. It's said they got one hell of a library, someplace that our precious PROJECTs can use to remember what they forgot. The remainder of the Summoners went out to Ionia, so they've probably got all the answers we could ever want."

Jayce nodded. "Our plan kills two birds with one stone. It will keep the PROJECTs you have safe, and it will allow Pulsefire to strike at the heart of New Zaun. We will need your help, of course, but if we can get the PROJECTs to Ionia, we may be able to keep them safe _and_ get the assault power to free the whole city."

Raksha could hardly take it all in, Ionia was still around? His home of his bloodline still existed? How was that even possible? Why had they not stepped in sooner? Was it really a safe place for the PROJECTs? Could he even trust the Pulsefire people in the first place? They basically abducted him, after all, with all their drag-queen-with-a-sleeping-dart bullshit.

"What's the plan?" Raksha asked cautiously. "I'm not agreeing to anything yet. Just tell me how this would go down."

Jayce nodded to Ezreal. The blonde huffed and reluctantly stuck out his arm, a small hologram appearing on the ground in front of them. A three dimensional map of the city. Raksha was tempted to stare, but Jayce was already talking again.

"There are three major field generators around the city, you've seen them, I presume?" Jayce glanced at him.

Raksha nodded. Who hadn't seen the shield generators? They were massive buildings, shooting large beams of light into the air to arc down in the ecological barrier around the city. They kept out storms, kept the temperature balanced, kept unwanted people out… The shields weren't talked about much, but they were the main reason why the city was so loved. Nothing could go wrong while they stayed up. Raksha knew what Jayce was going to say before he said it.

"We are going to—"

"You're going to take the shields down," Raksha finished. "Why?"

"We ain't taking the shields down," Ekko barked out a laugh. "We're lettin' the mists _in_!"

It took a moment before Raksha understood. He paled. The black mists were something talked about in children's fairy tales, meant to scare young ones out of walking the streets after dark. There were specters, ghouls, demons in the mists, the stories said.

"The mists," Raksha stammered, "They can't be real. They're only children's stories. Myths. Legends."

Jayce met his gaze with solemn certainty. "So was the League."

The mage's breath caught in his throat. According to the history books, the League of Legends was a myth; it had never happened. If not for Soraka confirming it for him with the written records of the Champions, Raksha would never have believed the League existed. Besides that, Ionia was definitely a real place, so if there was a way to get to the supposed library there, historical documents could be found that would fix the history books. Everything clicked into place.

Raksha took a breath, unintentionally breathing in some of his mana. He breathed out and focused on _Phyla_ to clear his mind. Assuming the mists were even _real_ , if these people were willing to risk letting the mists into the city, what else would they be willing to do? For the first time, Raksha wondered if he was dealing with terrorists.

"Why the mists, though? Why risk the whole city? Why not just smuggle the PROJECTs out?" Raksha muttered. There had to be another way.

He knew there wasn't as soon as he spoke.

"You know why, don't you?" Jayce asked.

Raksha let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, releasing some of his mana, and nodded slowly. "The gates all have metal detectors designed to keep inorganics from leaving. They'd catch the PROJECTs right away."

Jayce nodded solemnly. "So we need to take the guard's eyes off the east gate. We need to make a distraction, cause a panic big enough to make the entire city's police and military force respond. What could we _possibly_ do that would accomplish that?"

Nothing.

Raksha paled. "What proof do you have that we can't hide the PROJECTs like was have for the last decades?"

Jayce's expression flattened. "I don't have any proof of that, Raksha." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something very difficult. The air in the room suddenly seemed heavy, and even Ekko straightened a bit as he lounged, tensing. Jayce's grave glare met Raksha's eyes. "Do you really want them to be forced into hiding?"

Raksha's breath caught, and images of the four—no, five—PROJECTs in his basement flashed across his mind. Thoughts of Sona and her PROJECT helpers, of the other safe houses, all underground to mask the electronic signals they emitted. Of the PROJECTs living in that environment, hardly seeing the light of day. He'd always fought to protect them, to make them be seen as human… but this city… The Creator said he would make things fair, keep things safe for all, but Raksha could guess the real reason.

Raksha could feel the whole room warp inward on him as the realization hit him.

The Creator wanted to regain control of his playthings.

He could feel his eyes widen the slightest bit, his heart skipped a beat, his mantra slipped, panic creeping in on him, tinting the edge of his vision red. Anger filtered in then, a deep, consuming anger he had never felt before. It chewed at his mind like a beast with a bone, digging a hole deep inside him. Something rooted itself in him, then. The others could see it, they leaned forward slightly, sparks in their eyes. It was nothing like feeling it.

The Creator wanted to take his PROJECTs from him. That's what the registration was for. That's what the gala was for. The Creator wanted to gain the PROJECTs' trust by sticking Raksha's name on it all. Saying house Kismat was 'closely' involved in the process… it was all a manipulation, a façade, a trap.

The Creator wanted to take the PROJECTs back.

The anger Raksha felt was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he realized suddenly that he had pulled in enough mana that his vision was covered in the green hue of his magic. His fists clenched, knuckles white, his insides steamed, his vision cracked with red.

"How are we destroying the shields?" his voice startled himself. It was a low growl, a dark voice he had never used before. Then again, he had never before focused on such anger either.

The other three appeared oblivious to Raksha's inner turmoil. Jayce broke into a bright smile. "Glad to have you on board!"

They started headfirst into the plan, and Raksha committed every detail to memory.

The Creator would not get his PROJECTs.

Raksha would die before the Creator claimed them.

* * *

 _._

 _"_ _Master, I'm worried about you. You spend so much time alone, meditating that you hardly eat anymore."_

 _Silence._

 _"_ _Master, if you don't answer me, I'm going to leave."_

 _Silence._

 _Long, thick silence._

 _His student sighed. "You are not the master I expected. I'm going back to the towns."_

 _The clink of a blade being dropped to rock. The mist of a waterfall hiding the wetness in his own eyes._

 _"_ _I cannot follow your path," a pause. "I'm sorry."_

 _Footsteps faded beneath the sound of the waterfall, and the thick silence covered him again._

The scene faded, like mist in wind, dissolving into the pure white of the ceiling he hardly recognized. The change in perspective, from sitting to laying, jarred him, and he remained still as the world spun, his body reacquainting itself with up and down.

The silence in the room was heavy, pressing on his chest, cut only by his faint breaths. At least he was still human enough to breathe.

 _"_ _You are not the master I expected…"_

The words sent a chill down his spine, yet he couldn't say why.

The memory slipped from him, and soon enough those were the only words left.

 _"_ _You are not the master I expected…"_

What was the pressure behind his eyes about?

"He's awake."

"I'll let her know."

The door clicked as it closed. Yi carefully turned his head to the side, slowly recognizing the sleeping room at Raksha's. The person across the room from him was not who he expected.

Yasuo was sitting in the bed across the way, leaning on his knees, watching his hands as they were clenched around a sword's hilt in front of him. His mask was gone, and he had returned to his normal gear instead of the red and white robes from earlier. The swordsman gave Yi a glance, silently looking back at the sword he held. Yi felt a twinge as he recognized the blade as his own.

"It is a fine blade you have here. Receptive to your abilities," Yasuo mused. "She says it has a second blade when you use them."

Yi turned back to the ceiling, trying to avoid his initial reaction to Yasuo holding his sword. _His_ sword. The other man had no right to hold it.

 _Yi_ had no right to hold it. Not after what had happened.

"It hums when you hold it, you know," Yasuo finally said. "Your blade, that is. It hums with the magic in it. _Your_ magic. It won't hum for me."

Yi nodded slowly, the feeling of that energy coming back. The feeling of needing to accelerate, to go faster. That energy was overwhelmingly loud when it came, and all too silent when it left.

"You were very powerful when you were last alive," the words were low, barely louder than the silence around them. "At one time, I could have helped you control it, but…"

That was something lost to time, just as the words were lost to the air.

Yi said nothing. There was nothing to say. There was a timid knock on the door.

Yasuo let out a deep breath, standing. "It truly is a magnificent blade, my friend." He leaned mentioned blade against the wall at the foot of Yi's bed, and Yi immediately felt more at ease. "I will try to remember, for both our sakes." Yasuo breathed.

Yi wasn't certain he had heard the words.

Yasuo left, and there was a beat of silence before another person burst into the room.

"Oh Valoran, Yi are you alright? You had me so worried, I could not tell what to do! I should not have brought you to the festival, not after you had just woke, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, I should have—"

Yi cleared his throat, pushing himself up to look at the woman who had ran in. Soraka. That was her name. Why had he forgotten?

"I am fine," he said softly. Even as he spoke, he wondered if he was right. The memory still pressed at the back of his eyes, a pressure that he couldn't pin down.

 _You are not the master I expected…_

Soraka seemed to notice his silence, and rested a hand on his arm comfortingly. "You gave us quite a scare," the woman said softly. "Many people witnessed… the incident. I know you meant nothing by it, and I am sorry for bringing you out before you were truly prepared for what may happen."

Yi said nothing in response. He wanted to speak up, to tell her that it wasn't her fault; it was his. He couldn't control his power, his memories. He was the one to blame for the whole thing, not her. His voice failed him.

Soraka's eyes were shaded, and she looked solemn. "You are confused by this power, are you not?"

Yi nodded, fists clenching. They should have been white with the pressure, but the metal limbs showed none of it. It grated more on his nerves than he would have liked to admit.

"Each PROJECT has their own powers, their own struggles. They eventually learn, and I trust you will as well," Soraka said softly. Everything about her was soft, from her voice to her skin, from her clothes to her posture. Yi was so hard in comparison, all metal and masks, synthetic and separated.

"I have caused you all nothing but worry," Yi finally managed. Ever since he woke up, the others had to explain everything, had to take care of him, and he repaid them by letting his powers ruin a festival they held dear.

"No, no," Soraka said quickly. "Please, do not think like that!" She wrapped her hands around his fist, kneeling at his bedside to look directly in his eyes. "You have caused us no troubles, not one. You are not to blame for this incident, do not blame yourself. Please. You are still learning."

A true master is an eternal student.

 _You are not the master I expected…_

Yi clutched at his head, the words rebounding in his skull.

Soraka grasped his shoulder, worry clear in her eyes as she whispered something under her breath. A cool calm settled over him, yet one of the sets of words echoed in him. Soraka's hand retreated, and she watched him intently in silence.

"A true master is an eternal student," Yi breathed slowly. "Why do I believe that?"

Soraka gasped, a hand over her mouth, indescribable emotions flashing in her eyes.

"What is wrong?" Yi asked.

Soraka shook her head frantically, tears forming in her eyes. "Nothing, nothing is wrong," she blubbered. It was strange to see her blubber. She sniffed. "He said that all the time, before you were here."

"He?" Yi hesitated, thinking it over. His head still hurt, pulsing slightly. Yi. The old Yi said those words, he knew it. She knew it. Soraka was suddenly hugging him tightly, smiling into his shoulder.

"You have not forgotten who you are!" the woman laughed, or sobbed, it was hard to tell. "You are still you, I believe it!"

Yi could say nothing, simply allowing the woman to hang on his shoulders. After a moment, he hesitantly placed his hand on her back, partially returning the embrace. It was oddly soothing to have such contact with another being. He leaned into her shoulder, body quivering. He was scared, he realized. She seemed to think he knew who he was, but he was less certain. What if he hurt her?

The thought sent a chill down his spine. The last thing he wanted was to hurt the one who had helped him so much.

Yi pulled Soraka closer, seeking the comfort that came with the embrace. He was scared, alone in his own head with memories that didn't make any sense, yet she made him feel safe. In this one moment, he felt secure. His mind was clear, and he realized something.

He would never let himself hurt this woman. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe, if only to repay her for the troubles he had caused.

For now, however, he let her hug him.

That was good enough for now.

.

* * *

.

They talked about the plan for hours, going over every little detail that was possible; what would the distraction be, who would do what during the plan, what PROJECTs would leave and when. When they finally had everything ironed out, Raksha allowed them to put him under again. They insisted that he not be allowed to see the way out of the building, so the mage allowed himself to be dragged under into darkness by the strange drug they used.

He awoke to the liquid fire running through his veins, and snapped to alertness with a sharp breath. The green haze covered his vision as he instinctually prepared to attack, _Jia_ bolt half formed in his hand.

"Nice reflexes," Ekko chuckled, warily watching Raksha's movements.

Raksha released his mana, letting the _Jia_ bolt poof from existence. "Thank you," he muttered.

"It's been a day since the gala, you were out for a fair while the first time," Ekko clarified. "Your people will be missing you. You're seven blocks north of your home, in a back alley in the old industrial sector. In case of emergencies, we'll call you to here." The teen placed a small communicator in Raksha's hand. "Take this, keep it hidden. Don't use it. We'll call you when the preparation is complete. Contact your people, as planned, and be ready when the mists next near. We have eyes around the city, and will contact you the day before we make our move, to let you prepare."

"Got it," Raksha nodded, tucking the comm into his robes. He was still in his festival gear, he realized. He needed to bathe.

Ekko smirked, looking Raksha over. "So you're her descendent then," the boy said.

"You mean…?" Raksha frowned, trying to latch onto the change of topic.

"I only met her once, as she passed through Zaun," Ekko continued, "Karma Kismat was an amazing mage. There was an air about her unlike any person I've ever seen. I never thought I would see another person quite like her." He folded his arms, his brown eyes considering the man in front of him with a wisdom that didn't match his face. "It's been nearly three centuries since I last saw that look on anyone. Glad that was something she passed down."

Raksha was left in silence. There really was nothing to say in return to that. How could he be compared to Karma? She was the greatest mage he had ever learned of. There was no way he could get anywhere even remotely close to her power, her control.

I'm nothing like her. She was so much better.

He couldn't say the words out loud.

"Anyway, remember, we'll call you," Ekko said, breaking the silence. "Get ready. Talk to you soon."

Ekko turned to the exit of the alley, strolled out to the street, and vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving Raksha alone.

Raksha took a moment to collect himself. A day missing would raise some questions from the PROJECTs and the public eye. The plan involved him telling the public that he spent the last day conversing with powerful political figures while Jayce spread a rumor about who the mysterious 'Eden' was. Half of the talk in the city would be about the registration, the other half would be about the masked person seen by Raksha's side.

If needed, Ekko would reappear as Eden (as much as he protested against dressing like a female again) and they would make him appear to be involved with the Mistlings. The Mistlings were their way out of the city. Ekko had spent the last years infiltrating the underground Mistling society; placing himself at the forefront of the cult that worshiped the Black Mists, all under the disguise of the masked woman Eden. He would handle organizing trips out of the city, Jayce and Ekko would team up with the strike team Raksha had to take down the shields as the Mists approached, allowing as many PROJECTs as possible to escape the city, hopefully unnoticed.

The plan was simple, but it had a lot of moving parts, a lot of people involved, and a lot of things that could go wrong. Raksha didn't let himself think of the ways the whole thing could blow up.

Now, he just had to get home and tell his team that they were volunteered for a suicide mission. Wonder-fucking-full.

Raksha sighed, brushing his robes off. He straightened some of the delicate parts of the costume, making himself look like he was coming from a formal meeting. He then ducked his head, as if in shame, mask sat on the top of his head, and began walking.

It took him an hour to figure out where he was in the city. Once he found a landmark he recognized; a large Mistling graffiti on one of the businesses. He paused to consider the dark green and black painting, shaped like a specter's outstretched hand, lit by an ominous green lantern. "The Mists Come," the mural read. Someone had scribbled "Grab on, fool" next to the lantern. Raksha wondered if it was an inside joke.

From here, it was a simple, if unnerving, walk back to his house. He had been dropped off in one of the lesser sides of town, and his home was toward the central, high-end residential districts, albeit on the outer edges. He was on edge the whole time, carefully watching every shadow, every alley. One never knew what would hide in the darkness in this city.

It was almost heartbreaking to see the silence in the outskirts of the city. He could hear the distant celebrations from the city's center, but out here, on the edges of New Zaun, there was nothing but silence. The quiet was clam, yes, but it was also disturbing. Raksha allowed himself to walk faster.

When he finally arrived at his home, he went straight to the hidden stairs to the basement. Lilleth was likely asleep, as the sun had set while Raksha walked. He momentarily wondered if the PROJECTs were enjoying the Revel, but then turned the thought down. They wouldn't have gone in the first place if not for his insisting.

Raksha took a moment to make sure he was straightened out before taking the final steps into the PROJECTs' room.

"I'm home, who missed me?" He asked, a bit less sarcastic than he wanted. He began to pull off the outer decorations on his robes, trying to get into something more comfortable as he continued talking. "Someone call Cada- oh." Raksha froze in his tracks, finally taking in the scene before him. "Am I interrupting something?"

The furniture had been moved out of the way, allowing for several bedrolls to be laid out. Some were occupied, pushed against the walls, and others were rolled up. It seemed Cadao and Soraka had brought the band over, and they were now lined up with the other PROJECTs watching an apparent duel that took place where the couch had once sat. Fiora stood frozen, having just parried a strike from Yi's blade. Both PROJECTs were looking at Raksha in apparent surprise. Yasuo was on the kitchen countertop clutching a bottle of sake, small cup shaking in his hand as he held back a laugh. Lucian sat beside the swordsman, laughing along with him. Leona, as stalwart a woman as she always was, spoke first.

"Welcome home, Rak. Our resident blade mistress was just teaching Yi a few things about swordplay," the woman was sitting next to Soraka, leaning casually back on her hunk of metal that she always carried. Raksha realized he never learned what the thing did.

"Oh," the mage muttered. "Why are you not in the training room?" There was a gym room in the basement for training, after all.

"We seem to have an infestation," Leona replied simply.

"Of guests!" Lucian laughed loudly, clearly drunk on something. He motioned to the admittedly small gym. "Go see for yourself, man, it's crazy!"

Raksha did, slowly. He tapped open the smooth wall panel that led to the gym, and the door eased open, the wall sliding into itself. Bedrolls, mattresses, and people filled the room. PROJECTs. There wasn't an open spot on the floor at all. Some of them sat in small groups, talking quietly. Others sat alone, reading, practicing magic, or just staring into space. A few slept. There was the occasional non-PROJECT in their midst, leaning on armored shoulders or talking softly, comfortingly.

"Fuck," Raksha breathed. He counted quickly, estimating roughly one hundred and twenty people. Almost every PROJECT and helper they had. "This makes my job a bit easier."

"What job?" Fiora asked, coming up beside him.

"I need to speak with you and Yasuo without being overheard," Raksha said softly, easing the door closed. "It is a matter of utmost importance."

"So is the third night of the Revel, but we're missing on that as well, are we not?" Fiora muttered. "Very well, we can step upstairs if you would like, or go into the sleeping room. It has been uninhabited since Yi woke. We have some things to fill you in on as well."

The way the woman said that sounded like Yi had not intended to sleep there. Raksha nodded, moving to the sleeping room. It was closer than any upstairs sitting room, and he wondered momentarily if Yasuo could do the stairs to get above in the first place. He shook that thought off. Yasuo had held his own in a fight against a SHADOW drunk out of his mind. Yes, he had gotten terribly wounded—Raksha wondered how the wound was doing, probably just fine with Soraka's help—but he had fought drunk and won. A few stairs shouldn't be an issue.

Fiora grabbed Yasuo by the arm, practically dragging the other PROJECT to the room after Raksha. When the door clicked closed, the mage faced the two swordsmen, leaning against the back wall of the room and wondering what he was going to say.

"So, I went dark for a while," Raksha started. "You wanna know why?"

Fiora's face flattened, and Yasuo seemed to sober up a bit, standing at attention despite the glow of alcohol in his eyes. Fiora nodded; no words were needed.

Raksha hesitated, thinking on what he was going to say. Could he come right out with the plan? Keep it secret? Would he spill all the details right away or should he keep some back? The mage frowned to himself.

"Project Pulsefire is real," Raksha finally stated. He waited for the response. Other than a slightly raised eyebrow from Fiora, there was none. Raksha chuckled. Just like them, nothing ever caught these guys off guard. "They want to help the PROJECTs get to Ionia, and then kill the creator, give the city real freedom."

Fiora nodded, chewing on her lip. She was dep in thought. Yasuo, however, smiled broadly. "Ionia is still there, then?"

"Seems so."

"And they can get us there?"

"Seems so."

"How the hell are we getting the whole bunch of us out of this hellhole in one piece?"

"Some of us may not make it."

"Fi'ures," Yasuo barked out a laugh, fiddling with the old wood flute he carried on his belt since he'd gotten it from the SHADOW. "Nothin' can e'er go right aroun' 'ere, can it? Firs' Yi blows up the Re'el, then our 'ouse gets inva'ed, 'en we're gon' end up dyin' on our way t' Ionia, an'—"

"Wait, Yi did what at the Revel?" Raksha interrupted. "He blew up?"

"Onl' sorta," Yasuo waved a hand as if to bat away the conversation like a fly. "Big ol' crater in the cen'er park now, though. 'is magic is damn s'rong, 'or a swordsman."

Raksha let the conversation lapse as Yasuo took another drink from the glass he seemed to conjure from nowhere. Yi blew up? A crater? Raksha didn't know what to think.

"What is the plan to get us out?" Fiora finally asked, her voice soft, contemplative.

"They want us to take out the shields and let the mists in. Then, the Mistlings will sneak us past the gates, and into the open world," Raksha glassed over the exact details for now. Not all of those would need to be said.

"Mistlings?" Fiora's gaze darkened, her brow furrowing. "Can we trust the Pulsefires?"

Raksha shrugged. "They've got me on their contact list. They didn't show me where they were, but I left my tracker behind, so we can find out and scope them out, decide as we go. I'm supposed to prepare, though, so we need to be ready to move whenever."

Fiora didn't seemed reassured. "If he finds out we're working with Mistlings…"

"I realize how he'll feel," Raksha sighed. "We don't have a choice, really. The Registration is clearly a trap, and the Pulsefires' plan is solid. We went over it all earlier."

"He won't like it," Fiora muttered. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"So are you in?" Raksha asked.

"'m fine wi' it, 'f we can get t' Ionia," Yasuo replied.

Fiora took longer to answer, and it was her answer that really mattered. After a long pause, she nodded. "It is worth preparing for, at least, but Raksha?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me that you will pull the plug if it gets bad."

Raksha smirked, "Of course. I got a plan B, just in case."

"And?"

"And a plan C, D, E, all the way to J," Raksha shrugged, "Can't blame me for paranoia."

Fiora finally cracked a smile. "How are we going about this, then?"

"Well," Raksha stood up from leaning against the wall, "We need to get the leftover PROJECTs into our gym."

"I'll get Leona to recall them," Fiora said.

"Then, I need to get Cadao to introduce me to some people."

"To some Mistlings?" Fiora corrected pointedly.

Raksha nodded the affirmative. "After that, we're on standby. We can continue as normal, but we'll be ready to move when they call."

It seemed Yasuo's turn to nod, his ponytail bouncing with the motion. "'en we pull th' shit, get outta th' city, and get t' Ionia. Then wha'? Wha''s th' end game 'ere?"

"We find a way to free the city? Shut down the PROJECT labs? I don't know yet," Raksha admitted, "but taking the Creator's head is likely going to be a part of it."

The PROJECTs seemed to perk up at that. Yasuo, in particular, seemed drunkly giddy.

"Alright," Fiora said, "We will trust these men for now. Keep an eye on them, and do not let any other PROJECTs communicate with them."

Raksha nodded, "Of course."

"I will give Leona the task," Fiora said, easily leaving the room.

"This 'ill be fun," Yasuo stated simply, with a chuckle, "We haven't had any _real_ fun aroun' 'ere in a long time."

Raksha smiled at his enthusiasm. "There will be some nice fights in our future," the mage felt his magic surge at the thought, remembering the surge of mana and energy that was so intoxicating.

"'m rea'y for it," Yasuo said, "I've been rea'y for it since I firs' 'woke, and you've been rea'y since you were born, ha'en't you?"

Raksha tried to keep his face straight, but a small smile crept across his face. "You know I have been."

"I promis' you, this'll be the bigges' a'venture of our lives," Yasuo laughed. "If it goes wrong, we won' get a chance to go 'n ano'her, and if we accomplish our goal, we won' want to!"

Yasuo waved his flute and cup in tandem, saluting nothing, and he stumbled out the door. Raksha was left, breathing out the traces of mana in his breath. Without the magic, he felt empty, like the world was too silent. In the space between breaths, he promised himself that the surge of mana he inhaled next would not become his life. He would not allow himself to be consumed by the warrior. He would keep himself in balance, not lose himself to the rush that followed each breath.

As he sucked the mana through his teeth, feeling the rush of energy and pure _power_ surge through him, he realized…

Some promises were made to be broken.

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 **A/N: I feel like not much happened this chapter, but a lot of plot just hit all at once, and I dunno if it's overloaded. Hm. Really shouldn't ask for reviews on the topic, so I won't.**

 **Not gonna explain why this chappie isn't in June. I have no excuse.**

 **This chapter is around 6,500 words long, though, so there's that.**

 **Shoutouts to everyone who tried guessing the SHADOWs from last chapter. I'll let you know that while all of you guys got at least one right a piece, all of you also had at least one wrong a piece. Nice guesses, not revealing the answers yet. (You'll meet them all later.)**

 **Special shoutout to Fumus000 and the great wall of text that I had to read through. Wonderful to see that. Holy crap.**

 **I think I'm going to go back and fix the first two chapters, they're a bit of a train wreck... but I don't wanna mess anything up right now, so idk.**

 **Anyway, I don't really have much to say right now. Drunk Yasuo is best Yasuo.**

 **See you next Chapter... when it finally gets out.**

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 ** _Guest Review Responses!_**

 _ **Deprofi**_ : _Great guesses! A few right, at least one wrong there. Thanks so much for the kind words, I'm really glad you're liking the story. Hopefully you can keep liking it, eh? XD_

 _ **Amber**_ : _I should really try to slow it down a bit more, shouldn't I? :P (She says as NOTHING HAPPENS) ggrrraaa. Writing is hard, pacing is hard, everything is so hard in life it's so terrible and slippery slope and baby rage. Ez is one of my favorite characters, and I'm a sup main as well! Imagine that! (Don't ever tell anyone I told you to do support Ez, though. Never mention it to a soul... but it's awesome. Frost queens rylai's crucible iceborn and basically whatever else you want. It's so much fun... like sup Sejuani!) My other faves happen to be Varus and Ekko, but that's off topic._

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 _Thanks for the reviews, dear guests! So sorry if I've missed any other guest reviews in the past, totally forgot to do this part._


	8. Quiescence

**A/N: In case you missed the Note chapter this replaces, I'm sorry I haven't updated in a long while, life hit hard, and I was soooo not ready. Bright side, here's the chapter I wasn't sure I'd finish. It's a bit on the shorter side, but it was a great cut off point, so I left it there.**

 **TL;DR from the A/N Chapter: Life is terrible, I'm done catching colds, and Imma be writing this for NaNoWriMo in November... so updates are #Soon(tm)**

 **More at the end.**

 **Enjoy.**

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 **Part Eight:**

 **Quiescence**

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 **Or:**

 **Of Calm and Cold**

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The days passed in a relative calmness. People still came and went, and the basement was still full of people packed in wall-to-wall, but there were less comings and goings. The PROJECTs minded their own business, staying in the underground, and Raksha led his masquerade life above the ground.

Cadao and the band snuck out at least once to preform, returning the next morning with news of the city. The Registration had begun, and all of the humans with cybernetics had begun filing into lines to be registered. They were given separate sections at the Frozen Cask, as well as in the music arena. The robots themselves were separated even further. People were being cautious of the machines around them, and whispered about PROJECTs in dark corners of the city.

Surely, if they were to go above ground, they would also be split apart, held in a different light than the people around them. The PROJECTs would be seen as a threat, a volatile experiment gone wrong, and locked away for _correction_. Cadao had spit the word when he told them about it, and Fiora had muttered something about the 'Source Code.'

The news from above made the last threads of excitement bleed from the group. Everyone became silent, somber. This was more real than any of them realized.

It was then that Lilleth brought a note to Raksha. The mage read it with a frown, and almost immediately called for a meeting, Dragging the short coffee table into the sleeping room as he did so.

That's how they found themselves here. Around a dozen people crammed into a small room with four bunk beds to sit on and a short table squished between them.

Yi had been dragged into the meeting by Raksha, who had shoved him into his bunk and told to sit still and listen. Other PROJECTs had filtered in, squeezing onto bunks. Weapons had to be left outside, as there simply was no room.

Fiora and Yasuo sat across from Yi, and Leona settled in beside him. Soraka had chosen to sit cross-legged on the floor, having brought a pillow in from the other room and placed it in one of the empty corners. Cadao had claimed the bunk above Yi, and one of his feet hung dangerously close to Yi's mask. Sona actually floated above the table, seemingly weightless by the ceiling. The other bunks were filled with PROJECTs of every color. One in a bright sandy brown and one with dark purple lights sat above Yasuo and Fiora. An almost too-bright PROJECT of bright green leaned against the back corner of the room beside another in bright blue. Raksha was the last to enter the room, sliding the door closed behind him and dimming the lights so the PROJECT armor lights cast odd shadows on the white walls.

Raksha cleared his throat, calling everyone to attention. A few PROJECTs—including Leona, Fiora, the blue PROJECT, and the purple one—straightened as much as was possible.

"I know it's a bit early in the year for it, but I now call this meeting of leaders to order," Raksha said with a swift and practiced grace. "Before we begin, I assure you, I will explain everything in time. For now, treat this like a normal meeting." He flicked his hand above the coffee table, and some computer system sprung to life, projecting a floating window with a series of topics on it. Yi didn't get a chance to read any of them before Raksha moved on. "Introductions for our new fighter, core start. I am Raksha Kismat, owner of the bases and their cover locations. I will be the leader of this meeting."

"I am Soraka of the core sector. I run the bookstore cover at the Frozen Cask and head the support group," Soraka added easily. She motioned to Sona over the table. "That is Sona, my second. The man up there is Cadao, Sona's speaker. He shall speak for her, as well as for himself."

"Yasuo of Core," the PROJECT stated after a small silence, leaning against the wall of the bed.

"Fiora, head of the East and retrieval specialist. I work in the field," Fiora stated the fact simply, without hesitation.

Yi started as Leona spoke next, instead of the pattern continuing in a circle. "Leona of the East. I head both our defensive and communication based efforts," Leona chuckled lightly, "I am also on the retrieval team, but no one who does field work isn't on the retrieval team."

The brown PROJECT spoke next. Their design was simple, fashioned after an old armor design. A blue gem sat in the crown of the helm, just over the long white hair that fell down the PROJECT's back. "Sivir from the South. Head of infiltration and information. I watch people watch other people." The voice was female.

"Talon, south. Investigation and infiltration," the purple PROJECT growled. His voice was rough, matching his cloaked head and sharp visor. A nasty looking gauntlet sat on his right arm, and Yi wondered if it contained some hidden weapon.

Sivir spoke again, jabbing a thumb toward the other PROJECT. "He's the one I watch."

The blue PROJECT was the next to speak, standing tall across from Raksha. A bodysuit framed very clearly female assets, a thin visor with high wings framed her face, and a long blue cloak of light-like energy fluttered at her back. "I am Ashe, head of our northern front. I specialize in reconnaissance and retrieval. I also control the AVAROSA system."

The green PROJECT was the last to speak, barely straightening as they lounged. An angular collar and baggy pants added to the lazy look, and the half-shaved head of white hair left gender in question. "Esta's the name, footwork's the game. I get in, get out, get results. Work with Ashe as my commander, also have the complete honor of being the location tagger for us." Yi mentally put this PROJECT down as a young male.

Silence fell over the room when Esta finished.

Eyes fell on Yi expectantly. Leona nudged him.

"Your turn," she whispered.

"Ah," Yi nodded. "Right. My name is Yi, and I do not really have a role as of yet."

Small greetings were tossed around, nods and hellos. Raksha clapped his hands, summoning silence again. "I would like to call each sector leader to report. Core will be held until the end, as some of its report is linked to the next matter. East, please start."

Fiora stood in what space she could, waving a hand across the holoscreen of the table. Several small dots appeared on a map, each pulling up some kind of profile on a mission. Yi recognized the image of the destroyed lab that he woke in. "The East, as you can probably tell, has had a fair bit of excitement. We completed a retrieval mission for Yi over there, and are currently placing him. We had an incident with a SHADOW and one of our operatives, but the matter has since been resolved. Since the last meeting, we have saved three of four PROJECTS."

A small round of applause went through the room.

"That is East's report," Fiora sat back down.

"Thank you," Raksha said calmly. "South?"

Sivir, the golden brown PROJECT, shifted the map, showing a bright red line that ran southwest through the city. Another set of reports, this time with arrows to different streets appeared. "The south has been quiet. We have been watching the western front, and no actions have been taken. Our infiltration has spotted three new scientists on the board, and we think they have been preparing for something, quite likely that whole registration thing."

"We also believe they may be increasing PROJECT creation, not decreasing it. They are nearing the end of their precious list, so they must be excited to end it," Talon said in his gravelly voice. "They have created a few new labs, as well, according to our reports, though the locations are unknown."

"Duly noted," Raksha said. "Recon will be assigned that immediately. Is that your report?"

"I'll pass the exact details along to Recon after this meeting," Sivir waved a hand lazily, collapsing the map back down. "Yes, that's all."

"North, then," Raksha hissed. Something had him impatient.

"Our reports seem to confirm what the South has to say. The west has been mostly silent, other than the usual deliveries and convoys," Ashe spoke with a strong voice, easily bringing the map to focus on the northwest red line and the markers on it. "Most of their activity has been confined within the western sector, so it is difficult to tell exactly what has been going on."

"Expected," Raksha nodded. "Is that all?"

Ashe froze, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "That's the most important piece, but we have a whole year of data to share and—"

"That will not be necessary," Raksha cut her off. "If that is what we need to hear, then that is all that needs saying. We can move onto—"

"Wait a moment, Raksha," Soraka suddenly said. She stood, laying a hand softly on Raksha's shoulder. "What has gotten into you? You are never this worried during a meeting. Is something the matter?"

Raksha looked like he was about to snap angrily at the woman, but he snapped his eyes shut instead. His fists clenched, and he took an audible breath. He let it out with a soft sigh, his body visibly relaxing. The whole room seemed to lean in to hear him speak as he opened his eyes. There was a light green ring around them, his magic, no doubt.

"I'm sorry," Raksha breathed the words. "I _have_ been going too fast, haven't I?" He shook his head and knelt by the table, turning the display back into a basic map of the city. "Thank you, Raka, now allow me to explain myself."

"Please do," Sivir snapped, though the words could have been far fiercer than they were.

"We don't have much time," Raksha started, "The world is changing, and we're being put in the spotlight. We will have one shot at this, and if it fails, everything we've worked for will be undone. _We_ will be undone. The Renegades will cease to exist, and all of our PROJECTs will be enslaved again, will be turned to SHADOW and whoever was helping them will be eliminated, we all know this," he paused, letting the PROJECTs around the room nod in consideration. "The thing is, we can't stay in the city any longer. If we stay here, the Creator will search for us, will hunt us endlessly. He will not stop until he controls all of you, and until I, and those like me, are eliminated. He sees us as a threat, we have to act on that.

"We have a chance, though. _One_ chance. I've looked over the options a thousand times, and this is the best chance we got," Raksha frowned. "According to our records, we are down to less than twenty possible PROJECTs that still need to be made, before they begin duplicating. We only know what records Soraka has made for us, from history texts and legends of the League. Our enemies have even more detailed records than us. Our conflict is about to hit the breaking point, and all of you know how few fighters we have left. The PROJECT process has ruined many a legend, and that leaves us far outnumbered. We need allies.

"This," Raksha pulled a thin paper out of his pocket, tossing it on the table, "Is a note from my Mistling contact. They are ready for the move we are about to make, and are going to begin calling for a pilgrimage."

"Mistlings?" Talon asked the air. "That bunch of drug addicts and cultists? Why are we contacting them?"

Raksha met the purple PROJECT's gaze evenly. "They're our ticket out of the city, that's why," he pulled up several dots on the map, "These are the shield generators. We will take out two of them, at least, and then the Mistlings will get our PROJECTs out in small groups. Once out, they will go to set locations, using the Black Mists as cover. From there, Yasuo will lead a select few after a secondary contact of mine to Ionia, to see if it's safe. After that, the PROJECTs will be brought to the island of Ionia, and we will regroup there."

There was a long break of silence as the room stared at Raksha. Finally, several people spoke at once.

"Ionia? The Mists? What are you talking about?" Sivir snapped. "Those are myths!"

"Oh, so that's what that meeting was about!" Cadao exclaimed.

"Where did you get this idea?" Ashe asked.

"When did this plan get made?" Leona muttered.

"Silence, please," Raksha snapped. He knelt on the ground, hands on his head, leaning over the note on the table. "Please…"

Quiet fell slowly, thickly over the room. Yi couldn't help but shift under the silence's weight.

Raksha let out what could have been a choked sob or a bitten sigh. "Please listen. These are not myths. The League was real, you all are proof of that," the mage managed. "If the League was real, how many other myths are there that were connected? Ionia was a part of the League, and supposedly Soraka's homeland. Do we write that off as a myth? Do we ignore the fact that we may have an escape? The Mists come once every few months, but if we wait any longer, the Registration will claim many of us, too many to fight back. The ones they take will be mined for information, enslaved against their will, and bent to the Creator's.

"Some of the PROJECTs we harbor," Raksha lowered his hands, glancing up at Sona, "Some of them are just normal people with memories forced upon them. They are confused, they are lost, and they are not warriors.

"Some of us, on the other hand, _are_ fighters. Some of us are warriors who will do anything it takes to protect ourselves and our loved ones," Raksha glanced from Ashe to Leona, eyes settling on Yi, "Or to find the truth,

"All we want is to see ourselves to safety, to save the PROJECTs that are enslaved here, to keep every one of us alive and well. You all strive to be human again, to be seen as complete, and I'm here to help you.

"Trust me, if there was any other way, I would find it. Between Fiora, Yasuo, and I we've considered all the options, all the angles, all the end results, and this one is the only one that gives us a chance," he shook his head. "Yes, it's based on myths, but all of you are myths to begin with. We can't afford to risk all that we've worked for by not taking the chance we have.

"That said, I will only ask you to help of your own will. There will be no orders here. Each of us will be putting our lives on the line, as well as the lives of many civilian PROJECTs and warriors alike. We need to be careful, to think this through, and be ready to move at a moment's notice. We can't risk a leak, so no PROJECT will be leaving this house until we leave the city.

"I need you guys now more than ever. I need your strength, I need your trust, and I need you to be ready," Raksha clenched a fist on the tabletop. "Who is willing to lead with me?"

The silence settled back on the room, and Yi remained still to take it all in. A risky mission with little chance of success, or a lifetime of fear and worry. Neither option was amazing, yet…

Oddly enough, it was Cadao who broke silence first.

"Sona and I will join you," The musician said firmly. "We can't make the noncombatants leave the city, nor can we physically join you, as our disappearance from the public eye would be missed dearly, but we can help you by sheltering those who stay, keeping an eye on things inside the city as you leave, and… well, we can throw a concert the night of the escape, to draw civilians away from what will be going down. A spontaneous center park concert should do the trick. Would draw a lot of people and city security at the same time."

Raksha nodded, but said nothing.

"I'll join ya," Esta said brightly. "You may be able to use me to get into those pesky shields, or get out of them."

Ashe nodded, "I will join you as well. If it is to further the resistance, then I shall give you all I have. My fighters will go with you, but I will stay in the city, as a last line of defense for the noncombatants."

"You will need our information, for complete records of the generators and gates," Sivir said, "You can't do it without my people. I'll come with you."

Talon grunted in agreement.

"You already have my allegence," Fiora said in her accented voice. "Yasuo as well."

"I have all our books memorized, all the data we will need. We can wipe our drives before we go, keep the written files with us, or burn them," Leona added. "I can transcribe the missing data when we get to Ionia."

Leona nudged Yi's arm, and the swordsman started. The whole room seemed focused on him. They wanted his answer as well, then.

"Ionia," he muttered. "I was told Ionia was my home. If I go there, I may learn more about myself, as many of us would. I would not miss this opportunity if my life was the price."

Raksha nodded slowly.

"You have weighed all the options?" Soraka asked. A nod. "You are the one making this decision, and you have the lives of hundreds of people on your shoulders. Do you believe this is the best possible answer?" Another nod. Soraka let out a breath. "Then this is your choice, and I will assist you in any way I can. The Mists have many myths and many truths written about them, I can help you find which is which. If I can increase the odds of you escaping the Mists alive, then I shall."

Raksha finally raised his eyes, tired and broken in a way Yi had never seen before, the mage met each PROJECT's gaze. Then, he nodded again, more certain this time. "Alright," he hissed.

A fire rose in the man's eyes, a light of determination in the form of a green fire. Yi would have smiled if he could. The sentiment was there, at least.

"We will break the news slowly, appoint those who will join us into teams, assign each team a leader and a group of noncombatants to guide. We will study what Soraka has to say, we will plan, and we will be ready as soon as possible. The Mists should be here in another week or so, we don't have much time," Raksha took a deep breath, reaching forward to flatten the map, shrinking the city to a small circle and revealing the landscapes beyond. "Thank you, all of you," the young mage whispered. He cleared his throat, rose to his knees, and pointed to a point on the map. "This is where we will meet up, that's our end goal. Now let me explain how we're going to get there."

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* * *

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The next weeks passed in a flurry of motion and action. All forms of communication out of the household were cut off, the Hextech devices were all wiped, erased, or destroyed. Any important logs were collected from the library and put in carry bags, carefully hidden among rations and weapons. Raksha began to gather provisions and supplies quietly through their network of contacts.

The noncombatants were told the news, and—though hesitant—most agreed with the action. Some of the non-PROJECTs refused to put themselves at risk, saying they would stay as spies inside the city. Some PROJECTs chose to stay as well; those who did not connect with their memories, or those who wanted to be registered. Within the first day, five PROJECTs had left for the registration. None of them had returned, and they would not be allowed to return if they did.

A few in their number were sick, not physically, but mentally. Their memories were too fragmented, too destroyed to give them personality. Perhaps in Ionia, they could find help. They were paired with their non-PROJECT helpers, and the helpers chose if they would stay or leave. Almost all preferred to stay with Sona and Soraka, taking shelter in the Frozen Cask. The exception was Tobias Fate. The poor man was a victim of the early Istar Implantation methods. Half himself, half Tobias, the man wanted answers more than anything. His biological sister was his Shadowscape's ancestor, a mix of modern and ancient that simply didn't work out. He was the most capable of the shattered PROJECTs they sheltered, though. He deserved answers. Raksha wouldn't stop him.

Soon enough, they had all their protector and noncombatants paired and grouped. Four main groups, three with noncombatants to escort, and one with only six members. Raksha would be joining Yasuo, Fiora, Yi, Lucian, and Leona as the advance group. Ashe and Sivir would lead their respective groups to take out the shield generators in their respective sectors. They would each have a group of three to perform the tasks, for that was all they could spare.

Raksha was in the sleeping room checking on the map with Leona once again, making sure the paper copies of the map they had made were as accurate as possible, when the communicator that was in his pocket vibrated. He froze, cutting off mid-sentence.

Leona cocked her head curiously. "What's up?"

Raksha's throat tightened, and he frowned, pulling out the communicator without a word. He flicked it open, pressed it in his ear, and spoke sharply. "Yes?"

"The Mists are on the horizon. They'll hit tomorrow night. We move then."

"Understood," Raksha replied.

"See you on the other side."

Raksha nodded, despite the fact that whichever Pulsefire member was speaking couldn't see him. "Yes," he managed.

The communicator went silent.

"What was that?" Leona asked as Raksha removed the com.

Raksha tucked the communicator back in his pocket, slowly looking up to meet Leona's eyes. "Tomorrow. We move tomorrow."

Leona nodded. "I'll let everyone know."

Raksha hang his head in his hands when the PROJECT left the makeshift command center, squeezing his eyes closed and choking down the bile rising in his throat. His stomach flipped, and it was hard to breathe.

When had so many people come under his control? When did he become so responsible for all of this? Why him, of all people?

Because the house Kismat does what is right, no matter the cost.

Raksha took a breath, centering on _Phyla_. When peace did not come, he breathed out his mana, leaving the raging rush of his magic in the silence. The silence was loud in his ears.

The house Kismat does what is right.

No matter the cost.

No matter what.

Raksha lifted his head, letting his magic rush back to him. It filled him like a man dragged under the tide, and he was left gasping at the mana that seeped off his skin in a thin green mist. He shoved the knot in his stomach down, a new mantra coming to him in a heartbeat.

 _Desanti_.

Raksha rose slowly, his magic flaring off his body.

It was time to do what was right.

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* * *

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The distraction squads had left early that morning, in the darkness of dawn. When the sun had begun its decent, the different groups filtered out, in pairs or alone to meet at various locations. Mistlings would meet them there, prepare them for what was to come. That left the five of them in an empty house.

They sat in silence until the sun began to set. They bundled in cloaks, grasped their bags, and stepped into the back alley as the Mist warnings went off. Clouds cloaked the sky outside of the bright shield that expanded across the sky. A blue shimmer sank over the city.

Raksha pulled his hood up. Lilleth bowed respectfully as he turned away, promising to take care of the house while he was gone. All of them held weapons at the ready, Leona's shield covered in a drab cloth on her back. Raksha exchanged silent glances with them, keying into the communicator in his ear.

"You ready?" the question was loud in the quiet stillness of the night, spoken straight in his ear by the Pulsefire on the other end.

"We move," Raksha breathed. The words were plenty loud enough in the cooling night air. A shadow lay across the east of the city.

The Black Mists were upon them.

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* * *

 **A/N: Yeah, so here's the chapter. Have fun with that. There is so much dialogue this time, so sorry about that. Hopefully it doesn't feel too repetitive.**

 **Next Chapter brings the REAL plot. And the action scenes. And remember those SHADOWs from a few chapters back? Yeah, them too. You'll see.**

 **The Black Mist chapters hitting in October. How... poetic? Idk. Not planned.**

 **Anyway, here's to me actually accomplishing something for NaNo, eh?**

 **Cheers, m8s.**

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 _ **Guest Review Responses!**_

 _ **Draaaaaaven:**_ _Why thank you for your concern, oh great and powerful Draaaaaaven. I do hope this chapter appeases you, milord. *bows*_

 _ **Guest (1):**_ _*The motivational speech... It fills you... with DETERMINATION* ... I did not just say that, did I? Oh god. (It was at that moment Crysi knew... she f*cked up*_

 _ **Guest (2):**_ _Your guesses, they are close... but only about 50/50. *wink* You'll see more next chapter, don't you worry. :)_

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 _Thank you for the reviews, my dearest Guests! May all your days be wonderful, and may the great Draaaaaaven smile down upon you!_


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